SAX  E  'S 

POEMS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

&  Cambridge 


Copyright,  1859,  1861,  1866, 1868,  1872,  and  1873, 

BY  JOHN   G.  SAXE,   TICKNOR   &   FIELDS,   AND 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 

Copyright,  1887,  and  1889, 
By  CHARLES  G.  SAXE. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mats.,  U.  S.  A. 
Printed  by  IL,  0.  Iloughton  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
POEMS. 

THE  POET'S  LICENSE 1 

TREASURE  IN  HEAVEN 1 

1  'M  GROWING  OLD 2 

THE  STORY  OF  LIFK 8 

MY  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN .8 

Si'Es  EST  VATES 4 

THE  GIFTS  OF  THE  GODS    ., 4 

THE  OLD  CHAPEL-BELL  .        .                6 

COMPENSATION ...  7 

THE  OLD  MAN'S  MOTTO 8 

MAXIMILIAN 8 

WISHING 9 

TWE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD 10 

A  POET'S  ELEGY ...  10 

THE  MOURNER  X  LA  MODE 11 

THE  EXPECTED  SHIP 12 

THE  HEAD  AND  THE  HEART 13 

THE  PROUD  Miss  MACBRIDE 13 

THE  MASQUERADE 19 

MY  FAMILIAR 23 

LOVE  AND  LAW 24 

RHYME  OF  THE  RAIL 26 

THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER 27 

LITTLE  JERRY,  THE  MILLER 28 

How  CYRUS  LAID  THE  CABLE .29 

WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  THE  GODS 30 

THE  COLD-WATER  MAN                                                                                     .  33 


vi  CONTENTS. 

COMIC  MISERIES 33 

A  CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE 34 

SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES 35 

BOYS 37 

THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN 37 

TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES 38 

GIRLHOOD 39 

THE  COCKNEY 39 

CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE 40 

MIRALDA 46 

LE  JARDIN  MABILLE 49 

THE  BEAUTY  or  BALLSTON 50 

WHEN  I  MEAN  TO  MARRY 52 

A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT 52 

THE  KNOWING  CHILD •        .        .        .        .  53 

IDEAL  AND  REAL 54 

THE  GAME  OF  LIFE 55 

THE  PUZZLED  CENSUS-TAKER 56 

THE  HEART  AND  THE  LIVER 57 

ABOUT  HUSBANDS 58 

WHERE  THERE  's  A  WILL  THERE  's  A  WAY 58 

A  BENEDICT'S  APPEAL  TO  A  BACHELOR 59 

THE  GHOST-PLAYER Gl 

"DO   YOU   THINK   HE    IS   MARRIED?" 61 

A  COLLEGE  REMINISCENCE 62 

EARLY  RISING 63 

THE  LADY  ANN 64 

How  THE  MONEY  GOES 65 

SAINT  JONATHAN 66 

SONG  OF  SARATOGA 67 

TALE  OF  A  DOG 68 

THE  JOLLY  MARINER 70 

TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM 71 

YE  TAILYOR-MAN 76 

THE  DEVIL  OF  NAMES 76 

YE  PEDAGOGUE 79 

THE  STAMMERING  WIFE 80 

A  RHYMED  EPISTLE 80 

TOWN  AND  COUNTRY 82 

THF.  FAMILY  MAN 84 

THE  SNAKE  IN  THE  GLASS  84 


CONTENTS.  VK 

NE  CREDE  COLOHI 85 

CLARA  TO  CLOE 86 

CLOE  TO  CLARA. 87 

THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN 88 

THE  BLARNEY  STONE 89 

ODE  TO  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES 90 

MOTHERS-IN-LAW 91 

NIL  ADMIRARI 92 

THE  COQUETTE 93 

CARMEN  L^ETUM 9'? 

MY  BOYHOOD 97 

POST-PRANDIAL  VERSES 97 

THE  SILVER  WEDDING 98 

LOOKING  OUT  INTO  THE  NIGHT 99 

THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW 100 

DE  MUSA 100 

AUGUSTA 101 

KOGER  BONTEMPS 101 

THE  KING  OF  NORMANDY 102 

THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  MILKMAID 103 

THE  PORT  TO  HIS  GARRET 104 

THE  DINNER 104 

FOOLS  INCORRIGIBLE 105 

THE  BEST  OF  HUSBANDS  .                                                                          .  106 


LOVE  POEMS. 

WOULDN'T  YOU  LIKE  TO  KNOW? 109 

THE  LOVER'S  VISION ,  109 

THE  OATH 110 

UNREST 110 

To  MY  LOVE Ill 

To  LESBIA Ill 

MY  SAXON  BLONDE 112 

DARLING,  TELL  ME  YES 112 

TIME  AND  LOVE 113 

LOVE'S  CALENDAR 114 

THE  LAWYER'S  VALENTINE 114 

A  REASONABLE  PETITION 115 

THE  CHAPEL  OF  Two  SAINTS    .  .  115 


viii  CONTENTS. 

THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE  LAWYER 116 

DRINKING  SONG 116 

EGO  ET  ECHO 117 

THE  MAIDEN  TO  THE  Moon 118 

DAISY  DAY 118 

A  SUMMER  SCENE 119 

To  A  BEAUTIFUL  STRANGER 119 

HERCULES  SPINNING 120 

HOW  IT  HAPPENED 120 

EXAUDI  ANGELUS 121 

CARL  AND  I 121 

DO  I  LOVE  THEE? 122 

THE  LOVER'S  CONFESSION 122 

A  PHILOSOPHICAL  QUERY 122 

LIP-SERVICE    .  123 


FAIRY  TALES,  LEGENDS,  AND  APOLOGUES. 

FATHER  PUMPKIN;  OR,  ALWAYS  IN  LUCK 127 

THE  KING  AND  THE  COTTAGER 131 

THE  YOUTH  AND  THE  NORTH-WIND 133 

THE  BLIND  MEN  AND  THE  ELEPHANT 135 

THE  TREASURE  OF  GOLD 136 

THE  NOBLSMAN,  THE  FISHERMAN,  AND  THE  PORTER      ....  139 

THE  DERVIS  AND  THE  KING 141 

THE  MONARCH  AND  THE  MARQUIS 143 

THE  CALIPH  AND  THE  CRIPPLE 144 

Tin?  UGLY  AUNT 146 

THE  THREE  GIFTS 148 

THE  WIFE'S  RF-VENGE 151 

THE  DERVIS  AND  HIS  ENEMIES 154 

RAMPSINITUS  AND  THE  ROBBERS 156 

POOR  TARTAR 159 

THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES 160 

THE  WANDERING  JF.W 1C2 

THE  THREE  GOOD  DAYS 164 

THE  STORY  OF  ECHO 165 

A  CASE  OF  CONSCIENCE 16G 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  WINE 167 

THE  PARROT  OF  NEVERS 1C8 


CONTENTS.  ix 

KING  SOLOMON  AND  THE  BEES 173 

THE  Pious  BRAHMIN  AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS 175 

THE  ROMANCE  or  NICK  VAN  STANN 170 

THE  FISHERMAN  AND  THE  FLOUNDER 177 

How  THE  RAVEN  BECAME  BLACK    180 

DEATH  AND  CUPID 181 

LOVE  AND  LUCRE 182 

WISDOM  AND  CUNNING 183 

THE  SULTAN  AND  THE  OWLS 184 

THE  PIN  AND  THE  NEEDLE 185 

^BEN-AMMI  AND  THE  FAIRIES 186 

"THE  DISCONTENTED  WATER-CABRIEB 188 

THE  MILLER  AND  HIS  ADVISERS 191 

MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE 192 

HASSAN  AND  THE  ANGEL 193 


FABLES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  MANY  COUNTRIES. 

LOVE  AND  JOY 199 

THE  TWO  CHURCH-BUILDERS 200 

THE  WIND  AND  THE  ROSE 201 

THE  BEACON-LIGHT 202 

KING  ERIC'S  TRIUMPH 203 

THE  BRAHMIN'S  AIR-CASTLE 204 

REASON  AND  VANITY 205 

WHO  SHALL  SHUT  THE  DOOR? 206 

How  IT  CHANCED 206 

THE  THREE  MASKS 208 

THE  GHOST  IN  ARMOR 209 

THE  KING  AND  THE  PEASANT 211 

TUB  TRAVELLER  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 213 

THE  KING'S  FAVORITE 213 

THE  MERCHANT 215 

THE  FORCE  OF  EXAMPLE 216 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  SAUMUK 216 

THE  TWO  WALLETS 217 

THE  GREAT  CRAB 218 

LOVE  AND  FOLLY 219 

LOVK  OMNIPOTENT 220 

TUB  PHILOSOPHER  AND  THE  RUSTIC    .  221 


CONTENTS. 

THE  GARDENER  AND  THE  KING 222 

THE  VISION  OF  THE  FAITHFUL 223 

THE  FAIRIES'  Gins 224 

THE  OLD  GENERAL  AND  HIS  KINO 224 

SAINT  VERENA  AND  SATAN 225 

THE  SPELL  OF  CIRCE 22G 

THE  TWO  GRAVES 227 

KING  PYRRHUS  AND  HIS  COUNSELLOR 228 

THE  FARMER  WHO  MADE  HIS  OWN  WEATHER 229 

THE  PROXY  SAINT 230 

THE  TWO  WISHES 236 

THE  TRAVELLER  AND  THE  TEMPEST 23C 

PAST,  FUTURE,  AND  PRESENT 231 


SATIRES. 

PROGRESS 235 

THE  MONEY-KING 245 


EXCERPTS  FROM  OCCASIONAL  POEMS. 

EL  DORADO 257 

THE  GOOD  TIME  COMING 257 

THE  POWER-PRESS 258 

THE  LIBRARY 258 

THE  NEWS 259 

THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM        ....  260 


TRAVESTIES. 

ICARUS 265 

PYRAMUS  AND  THISBE 267 

THE  CHOICE  OF  KING  MIDAS 269 

PHAETHON 270 

POLYPHEMUS  AND  ULYSSES 272 

ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE 274 

JUPITER  AND  DANAE 276 

VENUS  AND  VULCAN 277 


CONTENTS.  x 

RFCHARD  OF  GLOSTER 278 

OTHELLO,  TUB  MOOR 281 


SONNETS. 

THREE  LOVES 287 

MY  QUEEN .28? 

"  WITH  MY  BODY  I  THEE  WORSHIP  " 

PAN  IMMORTAL 

THK  BEAUTIFUL 

BEREAVEMENT         

To  MY  WIFE  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY 

To  SPRING 

THE  VICTIM 

To  

To  A  CLAM 290 

THE  PORTRAIT 291 

SOMEWHERE 291 

CHANGE  NOT  Loss 292 

1  LA  PENSEE 292 

ABSENCE » 292 

BIENVENUE 293 

MISERERE 293 

AQUINAS  AND  THE  BISHOP 293 


EPIGRAMS. 

THE  EXPLANATION 297 

FAMILY  QUARRELS 297 

TEACHING  BY  EXAMPLE 297 

A  COMMON  ALTERNATIVE 297 

A  PLAIN  CASE 297 

OVER-CANDID 298 

NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND 298 

As  EQUIVOCAL  APOLOGY 298 

ON  AN  ILL-READ  LAWYER 298 

ON  A  RECENT  CLASSIC  CONTKOTERSY 298 

Lucus  A  NON 299 

A  CANDID  CANDIDATE  .  299 


xii  CONTENTS. 

NEMO  RF.PENTE  TURPISSIMUS 299 

Too  CANDID  BY  HALF 299 

CONJURGIUM  NON  CONJUG1UM  . 299 

CHEAP  ENOUGH 300 

ON  AN  UGLY  PERSON  SITTING  FOB  A  DAGUERREOTYPE 300 

ON  A  FAMOUS  WATER-SUIT  .  300 

KISSING  CASUISTRY 300 

To  A  POETICAL  CORRESPONDENT 300 

ON  A  LONG-WINDED  ORATOR 300 

THE  LOST  CHARACTER 300 

A  DILEMMA 301 

THE  THREE  WIVES.  301 


NOTES 805 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


-THE   VOET'S    UCENSE. 

THE  Poet's  License  !  —  Some  th<;re 
are 

Who  hold  the  false  opinion 
"T  is  hut  a  meagre  privilege 

Confined  to  Art's  dominion; 
The   right   to   rhyme  quite   unre 
strained 

By  certain  rigid  fetters 
Which  hind  the  colder  men  of  prose 

Within  the  realm  of  letters. 

Ah  no!  —  I  deem  'tis   something 

more, 

And  something  vastly  higher, 
To   which    the   proudest  bard  on 

earth 

May  worthily  aspire. 
The    Poet's    License! — 'tis   the 

right, 

Within  the  rule  of  duty. 
To  look  on  all  delightful  things 
Throughout  the  world  of  beauty. 

To  gaze  with  rapture  at  the  stars 

That  in  the  skies  are  glowing; 
To  see  the  gems  of  perfect  dye 

That    in    the    woods   are  grow 
ing,  — 
And  more  than  sage  astronomer. 

And  more  than  learneM  florist, 
To  road  the  glorious  homilies 

Of  Firmament  and  Forest. 

When  Nature  gives  a  gorgeous  rose, 
Or  yields  the  simplest  fern, 


She    writes    this    motto    on    the 
leaves,  — 

"  To  whom  it  may  concern  !  " 
And  so  it  is  the  poet  comes 

And  revels  in  her  bowers, 
And,  though  another  hold  the  land, 

Is  owner  of  the  flowers. 

0,  nevermore  let  Ignorance 

With  heedless  iteration 
Repeat    the    phrase    as    meaning 
aught 

Of  trivial  estimation; 
The  Poet's  License !  —  't  is  the  fee 

Of  earth  and  sky  and  river 
To  him  who  views  them  royally, 

To  have  and  hold  forever! 


TREASURE  IN  HEAVEN. 

RESPECTFULLY      DEDICATED      TO      GEORG8 
PEABODY,    ESQ. 

"  What  I  spent,  I  had  ;  what  I  left, 
I  lost ;  what  I  gave,  I  have !  " 

OLD    EPITAPH. 


EVERY  coin  of  earthly  treasure 

We  have  lavished,  upon  earth, 
For  our  simple  worldly  pleasure, 
May    be    reckoned    something 

worth ; 

For  the  spending  was  not  losing, 
Though  the  purchase  were  but 
small ;  . 


I'M  GROWING   OLD. 


It  has  perished  with  the  vising: 
We  have  had  it,  —  that  is  all ! 


All  the  gold  we  leave  behind  us 

When  we  turn  to  dust  again 
(Though  our  avarice  may  blind  us), 

We  have  gathered  quite  in  vain; 
Since  we  neither  can  direct  it, 

By  the  winds  of  fortune  tossed, 
Nor  in  other  worlds  expect  it: 

What  we  hoarded,  we  have  lost. 


But  each  merciful  oblation  — 

(Seed  of  pity  wisely  sown), 
What  we  gave  in  self-negation, 

We  may  safely  call  our  own; 
For  the  treasure  freely  given 

Is  the  treasure  that  we  hoard, 
Since  the  angels  keep  in  Heaven 

What  is  lent  unto  the  Lord ! 


I'M   GROWING   OLD. 

MY  days  pass  pleasantly  away; 
My  nights  are  blest  with  sweetest 

sleep; 

I  feel  no  symptoms  of  decay; 
I  have  no  cause  to  mourn  nor 

weep ; 

My  foes  are  impotent  and  shy, 
My  friends  are  neither  false  nor 

cold, 

And  yet,  of  late,  I  often  sigh,  — 
I  'm  growing  old! 

My  growing  talk  of  olden  times, 
My    growing    thirst    for    early 

news, 
My  growing  apathy  to  rhymes, 

My  growing  love  of  easy  shoes, 
My  growing  hate  of  crowds   and 

noise, 

My  growing  fear  of  taking  cold, 

All  whisper,  in  the  plainest  voice, 

I  'm  growing  old! 


I  'm  growing  fonder  of  m}'  staff; 

I  'in  growing  dimmer  in  the  eyes ; 

I'm  growing  fainter  in  my  laugh; 

I  'm  growing  deeper  in  my  sighs ; 

I'm  growing  careless  of  my  dress; 

I  'm  growing  frugal  of  my  gold; 

I  'm  growing  wise ;  I  'm  growing,  — • 

yes,  — 

I  'm  growing  old ! 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  taste; 

I  see  it  in  my  changing  hair; 
I  see  it  in  my  growing  waist; 
I  see  it  in  my  growing  heir; 
A  thousand    signs    proclaim    the 

truth, 

As  plain  as  truth  was  ever  told, 

That,  even  in  my  vaunted  youth, 

I  'm  growing  old! 

Ah  me !  my  very  laurels  breathe 
The  tale  in  my  reluctant  ears, 
And   every  boon   the   Hours   be 
queath 
But   makes    me   debtor    to  the 

Years ! 

E'en  Flattery's  honeyed  words  de 
clare 

The  secret  she  would  fain  with 
hold, 

And  tells  me  in  "  How  young  you 
are !  " 

I  'm  growing  old! 

Thanks    for    the    years! — whose 

rapid  flight 

My  sombre  Muse  too  sadlv  sings ; 
Thanks  for  the  gleams  of  golden 

light 
That  tint  the  darkness  of  their 

wings; 
The  light  that  beams  from  out  the 

skv, 

Those  heavenly  mansions  to  un 
fold 

Where  all  are  blest,  and  none  may 
sigh, 

"I  'm  growing  old! " 


MY  CASTLE  hV  SPA/JY. 


THE  STORY  OF  LIFE. 

SAY,  what  is  life !  'T  is  to  be  born; 
A  helpless  Babe,  to  greet  the 

light 

With  a  sharp  wail,  as  if  the  morn 
Foretold    a    cloudy    noon    and 

night; 

To  weep,  to  sleep,  and  weep  again, 
With  sunny  smiles  between;  and 
then? 

And  then  apace  the  infant  grows 
To  be  a  laughing,  puling  boy, 

Happy,  despite  his  little  woes, 
Were  he  but  conscious  of  his  joy ; 

To  be,  in  short,  from  two  to  ten, 

A  merry,  moody  Child;  and  then? 

And  then,  in  coat  and  trousers  clad, 
To  learn  to  say  the  Decalogue, 

And  break  it;  an  unthinking  Lad, 
With  mirth  and  mischief  all 
agog; 

A  truant  oft  by  field  and  fen 

To  capture  butterflies;  and  then? 

And  then,  increased  in  strength  and 
size, 

To  be,  anon,  a  Youth  full-grown ; 
A  hero  in  his  mother's  eyes, 

A  young  Apollo  in  his  own; 
To  imitate  the  ways  of  men 
In  fashionable  sins ;  and  then  ? 

And  then,  at  last,  to  be  a  Man  ; 

To  fall  in  love ;  to  woo  and  wed ; 
With  seething  brain  to  scheme  and 

plan; 

To  gather  gold,  or  toil  for  bread ; 
To  sue  for  fame  with  tongue  or  pen, 
And  gain  or  lose  the   prize;   and 
then  ? 

Ancf'then  in  gray  and  wrinkled  Kiel 
To  mourn  the  speed  of  life's  de 
cline; 


To  praise  the  scenes  his  youth  be 
held, 

And  dwell  in  memory  of  Lang- 
Syne ; 

To  dream  awhile  with  darkened 
ken, 

Then   drop   into   his  grave;    and 
then  ? 


MY  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 

TIIEKE  's  a  castle  in  Spain,  very 

charming  to  see, 
Though  built  without  money  or 
toil; 

Of  this  handsome  estate  I  am  owner 

in  fee, 
And  paramount  lord  of  the  soil ; 

And  oft  as  I  may  I  'm  accustomed 
to  go 

And  live,  like  a  king,  in  my  Span 
ish  Chateau! 

There 's  a  dame  most  bewitchingly 

rounded  and  ripe, 
Whose  wishes  are  never  absurd ; 

Who  does  n't  object  to  my  smoking 

a  pipe, 
Nor  insist  on  the  ultimate  word; 

In  short,  she  's  the  pink  of  perfec 
tion,  you  know; 

And  she  lives,  like  a  queen,  in  my 
Spanish  Chateau! 

I  've  a  family  too ;  the  delightfulest 

girls, 
And  a  bevy  of  beautiful  bovs; 

All  quite  the  reverse  of  those  juve 
nile  churls 

Whose  pleasure  is  mischief  and 
noise; 

No  modern  Cornelia  might  ventiiro 
to  show 

Such  jewels  as  those  in  my  Spanish 
Chateau ! 


Till-:   GIFTS   OF   THE  GODS. 


I  have  servants   who   seek    their 

contentment  in  mine. 
And  always  mind  what  they  are 

at; 
Who  never  embezzle  the  sugar  and 

wine, 

And  slander  the  innocent  cat ; 
Neither  saucy,    nor  careless,   nor 

stupidly  slow 
Are  the  servants  who  wait  in  my 

Spanish  Chateau ! 

I  have  pleasant  companions;  most 

all'able  folk, 

And  each  with  the  heart  of  a 
brother; 

Keen  wits,  who  enjoy  an  antago 
nist's  joke, 

And   beauties   who  're   fond    of 
each  other; 

Such  people,  indeed,  as  you  never 
may  know, 

Unless  yon   should   come   to  my 
Spanish  Chateau ! 

I  have  friends,  whose  commission 

for  wearing  the  name 

In  kindness  unfailing  is  shown; 

Who  pay  to  another  the  duty  they 

ciaim, 
And  deem  his    successes    their 

own ; 
Who  joy  in  his  gladness,  and  weep 

at  his  woe; 
You'll  find  them  (where  else?)  in 

my  Spanish  Chateau ! 

'  0  si  sic  semper!"  I  oftentimes 

say 

(Though   't  is  idle,  I  know,    to 
complain), 

To  think  that  again  I  must  force 

me  away 

From    my  beautiful    castle    in 
Spain ! 

Ah !  would  that  my  stars  had  de 
termined  it  so 

I  might  live  the  year  round  in  my 
Spanish  Chateau! 


SPES   EST   VATES. 

THERE  is  a  saying  of  the  ancient 

sages : 

No  noble  human  thought, 
However  buried   in  the   dust  of 

ages, 
Can  ever  come  to  naught. 

With  kindred  faith,  that  knows  no 
base  dejection, 

Beyond  the  sages'  scope 
I  see,  afar,  the  final  resurrection 

Of  every  glorious  hope. 

I  see,  as  parcel  of  a  new  creation, 

The  beatific  hour 
When  every  bud  of  lofty  aspiration 

Shall  blossom  into  flower. 

We  are  not  mocked ;  it  was  not  in 

derision 

God  made  our  spirits  free; 
The  poet's  dreams  are  but  the  dim 

C  revision 
issings  that  shall  be,  — 

When    they    who    lovingly    have 

hoped  and  trusted, 
Despite  some  transient  fears, 
Shall  see  Life's  jarring  elements 

adjusted, 
And  rounded  into  spheres ! 


THE  GIFTS   OF  THE   GODS. 

THE   saying    is    wise,   though    it 

sounds  like  a  jest, 
That  "  The  gods  don't  allow  us 

to  be  in  their  debt," 
For  though  we  may  think  we  .are 

specially  blest, 

We  are  certain  to  pay  for  the 
favors  we  get ! 


THE    OLD    CHAPEL-BELL. 


Arc  Riches   the   boon?     Nay,  be 

not  elate ; 
The  final  account  is  n't  settled 

as  yet ; 
Old  Care  has  a  mortgage  on  every 

estate, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for  the 
wealth  that  you  get ! 

Is  Honor  the  prize  ?     It  were  easy 

to  name 
What  sorrows    and    perils    her 

pathway  beset; 

Grim  Hate  and  Detraction  accom 
pany  Fame, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for 
the  honor  you  get! 

Is    Learning    a    treasure?      How 

charming  the  pair 
When   Talent   and   Culture   are 

lovingly  met; 
But  Labor  unceasing  is  grievous 

to  bear, 

And  that  's  what  you  pay  for 
the  learning  you  get! 

Is  Genius  worth   having?     There 

is  n't  a  doubt; 
And   yet   what  a  price  on  the 

blessing  is  set,  — 
To  suffer  more  with  it  than  dunces 

without, 

Andthat  's  what  you  pay  for  the 
genius  you  get! 

Is  Beauty  a  blessing?     To  have  it 

for  nought 
The  gods  never  grant  to  their 

veriest  pet ; 
Pale  Envy  reminds  you  the  jewel 

is  bought, 

And  that 's  what  you  pay  for 
the  beauty  you  get! 

But  Pleasure  ?     Alas !  —  how  pro 
lific  of  pain ! 

Gay   Pleasure    is    followed    by 
gloomy  Regret ; 


And  often  Repentance  is  one  of 

her  train, 

And  that  's  what  you   pay  for 
the  pleasure  you  get ! 

But   surely  in    Friendship  we   all 

may  secure 
An  excellent  gift;  never  doubt 

it,  —  and  yet 
With  much  to  enjoy  there  is  much 

to  endure, 

And  that 's  what  we  pay  for  the 
friendship  we  get! 

But  then  there   is   Love  ?  —  Nay, 

speak  not  too  soon; 
The  fondest  of  hearts  may  have 

reason  to  fret ; 
For  Fear  and  Bereavement  attend 

on  the  boon, 

And  that 's  what  we  pay  for  the 
love  that  we  get ! 

And   thus   it  appears  —  though  it 

sounds  like  a  jest  — 
The  gods  don't  allow  us  to  be  in 

their  debt; 
And  though  we  may  think  we  are 

specially  blest, 

We  are  certain  to  pay  for  what 
ever  we  get ! 


THE  OLD  CHAPEL-BELL. 

A   BALLAD. 

WITHIN    a    churchyard's    sacred 

ground, 

Whose  fading  tablets  tell 
Where  they  who  built  the  village 

church 

In  solemn  silence  dwell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  earth,  there  lies 
An  ancient  Chapel-Bell. 

Broken,  decayed,  and  covered  o'er 
With    mouldering    leaves    and 
rust; 


THE   OLD    CHAPEL-BELL. 


Its  very  name  and  date  concealed 
Beneath  a  cankering  crust; 

Forgotten,  — like  its  early  friends, 
\Vho  sleep  in  neighboring  dust. 

Yet  it  was  once  a  trusty  Bell, 

Of  most  sonorous  lung, 
And  many  a  joyous  wedding-peal, 

And  many  a  knell  had  rung, 
Ere -Time  had  cracked  its  brazen 
sides, 

And  broke  its  iron  tongue. 

And  many  a  youthful  heart  had 

danced, 

In  merry  Christmas-time, 
To  hear  its  pleasant  roundelay, 

Sung  out  in  ringing  rhyme; 
And  many  a  worldly  thought  been 

checked 
To  list  its  sabbath  chime. 

A  youth  —  a   bright    and  happy 
boy  — 

One  sultry  summer's  day, 
Aweary  of  his  bat  and  ball, 

Chanced  hitherward  to  stray, 
To  read  a  little  book  he  had, 

And  rest  him  from  his  play. 

"  A  soft  and  shady  spot  is  this !  " 
The  rosy  youngster  cried, 

And  sat  him  down,  beneath  a  tree, 
That  ancient  Bell  beside; 

(But,  hidden  in  the  tangled  grass, 
The  Bell  he  ne'er  espied.) 

Anon,  a  mist  fell  on  his  book, 
The  letters  seemed  to  stir, 

And  though,  full  oft,  his  flagging 

sight 
The  boy  essayed  to  spur, 

The  mazy  page  was  quickly  lost 
Beneath  a  cloudy  blur. 

And  while  he  marvelled  much  at 

this, 
And  wondered  how  it  came, 


He  felt  a  languor  creeping  o'er 
His  young  and  weary  frame, 

And  heard  a  voice,  a  gentle  voice, 
That  plainly  spoke  his  name. 

That  gentle  voice  that  named  hi* 
name 

Entranced  him  like  a  spell 
Upon  his  ear  so  very  near 

And  suddenly  it  fell, 
Yet  soft  and  musical,  as  't  were 

The  whisper  of  a  bell. 

"  Since  last  I  spoke,"  the  voice 
began, 

"  Seems  many  a  dreary  year! 
(Albeit,  't  is  only  since  thy  birtli 

I  've  lain  neglected  here ! ) 
Pray  list,  while  I  rehearse  a  tale 

Behooves  thee  much  to  hear. 

"  Once,   from  yon  ivied  tower,   I 

watched 

The  villagers  around, 
And  gave   to   all  their  joys  and 

griefs 

A  sympathetic  sound,  — 
But  most  are  sleeping,  now,  within 
This  consecrated  ground. 

"  I  used  to  ring  my  merriest  peal 
To  hail  the  blushing  bride; 

I  sadly  tolled  for  men  cut  down 
In  strength  and  manly  pride; 

And    solemnly,  —  not    mournful 
ly, — 
When  little  children  died. 

"  But,  chief,  my  duty  was  to  bid 

The  villagers  repair, 
On  each  returning  sabbath  morn 

Unto  the  House  of  Prayer, 
And  in  his  own  appointed  place 

The  Saviour's  mercy  share. 

"Ah!  well  I  ir.ind  me  of  a  child, 
A  gleesome,  happy  maid, 


COMPENSATION. 


Who  came,  with  constant  step,  to 
church, 

In  comely  garb  arrayed, 
And  knelt  her  down  full  solemnly, 

And  penitently  prayed. 

"  And  oft,  when  church  was  done, 

I  marked 

That  little  maiden  near 
This  pleasant  spot,  with  book  in 

hand, 

As  you  are  sitting  here,  — 
She  read  the  Story  of  the  Cross, 
And  wept  with  grief  sincere. 

"  Years  rolled  a  way,  —  and  I  be 
held 

The  child  to  woman  grown; 
Her  cheek  was  fairer,  and  her  eye 

With  brighter  lustre  shone ; 
But  childhood's   truth  and   inno 
cence 
Were  still  the  maiden's  own. 

"  I  never  rang  a  merrier  peal 
Than  when,  a  joyous  bride, 
She    stood     beneath    the    sacred 

porch, 

A  noble  youth  beside, 
And    plighted    him    her    maiden 

troth, 
In  maiden  love  and  pride. 

''I  never  tolled  a  deeper  knell, 

Than  when,  in  after  years, 
They  laid  her  in  the  churchyard 

here, 

Where    this    low    mound     ap 
pears,  — 
(The   very   grave,  my  boy,  that 

you 
Are  watering  now  with  tears!) 

"  It  is  thy  mother  !  gentle  boy, 
That  claims  this  tale  of  mine,  — 

Thou   art  a  flower  whose   fatal 

birth 
Destroyed  the  parent  vine ! 


A   precious   flower  art  thou,  my 
child,— 

TWO    LIVES    WERE    GIVEN    FOR 
THINE ! 

"  One   was  thy  sainted  mother's, 

when 

She  gave  thee  mortal  birth; 
And  one  thy  Saviour's,    when  in 

death 

He  shook  the  solid  earth ; 
Go !  boy,  and  live  as  may  befit 
Thy  life's  exceeding  worth!  " 

The  boy  awoke,  as  from  a  dream, 
And,  thoughtful,  looked  around, 

But  nothing  saw,  save  at  his  feet 
His  mother's  lowly  mound. 

And  by  its  side  that  ancient  Bell, 
Half  hidden  in  the  ground  I 


COMPENSATION. 


WHEN  once,  in  "  Merrie  England," 

A  prisoner  of  state 
Stood  waiting  death  or  exile, 

Submissive  to  his  fate, 
He  made  this  famous  answer.  — 
"  Si  lonc/a,  let-is  ; 
Si  dura,  brevis ; 

Go  tell  your  tyrant  chief, 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 

Cruel  ones  are  brief!  " 


Alas !  we  all  are  culprits ; 

Our  bodies  doomed  to  bear 
Discomforts  and  diseases, 

And  none  may  'scape  his  share; 
But  God  in  pity  orders, 
Si  lonya,  levis; 
Si  dura,  brtms ; 

He  grants  us  this  relief, 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 

Cruel  ones  are  brief. 


MAXIMILIAN. 


Nor  less  the  mind  must  suffer 

Its  weight  of  care  and  woe, 
Afflictions  and  bereavements 

Itself  can  only  know; 
But  let  us  still  remember, 
Si  lonr/a,  lens ; 
Si  dura,  breris  ; 

To  moderate  our  gi  ief,  — 
Long  pains  are  light  ones, 

Cruel  ones  are  brief. 


THE   OLD  MAN'S  MOTTO. 

"  GIVE  me  a  motto!  "  said  a  youth 
To  one  whom  years  had  rendered 

wise; 
"  Some     pleasant      thought,      or 

weighty  truth, 

That  briefest  syllables  comprise ; 
Some  word  of  warning  or  of  cheer 
To  grave  upon  my  signet  here. 

"And,  reverend  father,"  said  the 

boy, 

"Since  life,  they  say,  is  evermade 
A  mingled  web  of  grief  and  joy ; 
Since  cares  may  come  and  pleas 
ures  fade,  — 

Pray,  let  the  motto  have  a  range 
Of     meaning      matching      every 
change.  " 

"  Sooth !  "  said  the  sire,  "  methinks 

you  ask 

A  labor  something  over-nice, 
,That    well    a    finer   brain    might 

task. 

What  think  you,  lad,  of  this  de 
vice 

(Older than  I,  though  I  am  gray), 
'T  is    simple, — '  This    will   pass 
away  '  ? 

"  When  wafted  on   by   Fortune's 

breeze, 

In  endless  peace  thou  seem'stto 
glide, 


Prepare  betimes  for  rougher  seas. 
And  check  the  boast  of  foolish 

pride; 

Though  smiling  joy  is  thine  to-day, 
Remember,  '  This  will  pass  away  !' 

"  When   all    the    sky    is    draped 

in  black, 
And,    beaten    by    tempestuous 

gales, 
Thy    shuddering    ship    seems    all 

a-wrack, 
Then   trim   again    thy    tattered 

sails; 

To  grim  Despair  be  not  a  prey; 
Bethink     thee,  '  This    will  "  pass 

away!  ' 

"  Thus,   0  my  son,  be    not    o'er- 

proud, 
Nor  yet  cast  down;  judge  thou 

aright; 
When  skies  are  clear,  expect  the 

cloud: 
In   darkness,    wait  the   coming 

light; 

Whatever  be  thy  fate  to-day, 
Remember,       '  This      will     pass 

awav! ' " 


MAXIMILIAN. 

NOT  with  a  craven  spirit  he 
Submitted  to  the  harsh  decree 
That  bade  him  die  before  his  time, 
Cut     off    in    manhood's     goldea 
prime,  — 

Poor  Maximilian ! 

And  some  who  marked  his  noble 

mien, 

His  dauntless  heart,  his  soul  serene, 
Have  deemed  they  saw  a  martyr 

die, 

And  chorused  forth  the  solemn  cry, 
"  Great  Maximilian !  " 


WISHING. 


Alas!     Ambition  was  his  sin; 
He  staked  his    life    a    throne   to 

win; 

Counted  amiss  the  fearful  cost 
(As  chiefs  have   done   before),  — 

and  lost! 

Hash  Maximilian! 

'T  is  not  the  victim's  tragic  fate. 
Nor  calm  endurance,  makes  him 

great  ; 

Mere  lust  of  empire  and  renown 
Can    never    claim    the    martyr's 

crown, 

Brave  Maximilian! 

Alas!  it  full,  that,  in  thy  aim 

To  win  a  sovereign's  power  and 

fame, 

Thy  better  nature  lost  its  force, 
And  royal   crimes   disgraced   thy 

course, 

King  Maximilian! 

Alas!    what  ground   for   mercy's 

plea 

In  his  behalf,  whose  fell  decree 
Gave  soldiers  unto  felons'  graves, 
And    freemen    to    the    doom    of 

slaves,  — 

Fierce  Maximilian  ? 

I  loathe  the  rude,  barbaric  wrath 
That  slew  thee  in  thy   vent'rous 

path ; 
But  "  they  who  take,"  thus  saith 

the  Lord, 

"  Shall  also  perish  by  the  sword," 
Doomed  Maximilian! 

But,    when     I    think    upon    the 

scene,  — 
Thy  fearful   fate,    thy    wretched 

queen.  — 
And  murk  how  bravelv  thou  didst 

die, 

I  breathe  again  the  pitying  sigh, 
"  Poor  Maximilian !  " 


WISHING. 

OF  all  amusements  for  the  mind, 

From  logic  down  to  fishing, 
There  is  n't  one  that  you  can  find 

So  very  cheap  as  •'  wishing." 
A  very  choice  diversion  too, 

If  we  but  rightly  use  it, 
And  not,  as  we  are  apt  to  do, 

Pervert  it,  and  abuse  it. 


I      wish,  —  a       common 

indeed,  — 

My  purse  were  somewhat  fatter, 

That  I  might  cheer  the  child  of 

need, 

And  not  my  pride  to  flatter; 
That  I   might    make    Oppression 

reel, 

As  only  gold  can  make  it, 
And    break   the   Tyrant's   rod    of 

Steel, 
As  only  gold  can  break  it. 

I  wish  —  that  Sympathy  and  Love. 

And  every  human  passion 
That  has  its  origin  above, 

Would  come  and  keep  in  fashion : 
That   Scorn,   and    Jealousv,    and 
Hate, 

And  every  base  emotion, 
Were  buried  fifty  fathom  deep 

Beneath  the  waves  of  Ocean ! 

I  wish  —  that  friends  were  always 
true, 

And  motives  always  pure; 
I  wish  the  good  were  not  so  few, 

I  wish  the  bad  were  fewer; 
I  wish  that  parsons  ne'er  forgot 

To  heed  their  pious  teaching; 
I  wish  that  practising  was  not 

So  different  from  preaching! 

1  wish  —  that  modest  worth  might 

be 

Appraised  with  truth  and  can 
dor; 


10 


A  POETS  ELEGY. 


I  wish  that  innocence  were  free 
From  treachery  and  slander  ; 
I  wish  that  men  their  vows  would 

mind ; 

That  women  ne'er  were  rovers; 
I   wish   that  wives  were    always 

kind, 
And  husbands  always  lovers ! 

I  wish  —  in  fine  —  that  Joy  and 
Mirth, 

And  every  good  Ideal, 
May  come  erewhile,  throughout  the 
earth, 

To  be  the  glorious  Real ; 
Till  God  shall  every  creature  bless 

With  his  supremest  blessing, 
And  Hope  be  lost  in  Happiness, 

And  Wishing  in  Possessing ' 


THE  WAY   OF   THE    WORLD. 


A  YOUTH  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she ; 
But  she  was  rich,  and  he  was  poor, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  lady  never  could  wear  — 

Her  mother  held  it  firm  — 
A  gown  that  came  of  an  India 

plant. 

Instead  of  an  India  worm  ! — 
And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were 
broken. 


A  vouth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she ; 
But  he  was  high  and  she  was  low, 
And  so  it  might  not  be. 

A.man  u-ho  had  worn  a  spur, 

In  ancient  battle  won, 
Had  sent  it  down  with  great 

renown. 
To  goad  his  future  son  I  — 


And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spokeu ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts   were 
broken. 


A  youth  would  marry  a  maiden, 

For  fair  and  fond  was  she; 
But  their  sires  disputed  about  the 

Mass, 

And  so  it  might  not  be. 
A  couple  of  wicked  kings, 

T/iree  hundred  years  agone, 
Had  played  at  a  royal  game  of 

chess, 
And  the  Church  had  been  a 

pawn ! — 

And  so  the  cruel  word  was  spoken ; 
And  so  it  was  two  hearts  were 
broken. 


A  POET'S  ELEGY. 

HERE  rests,  at  last,  from  worldly 

care  and  strife, 
A  gentle  man-of-rhyme, 
Not  all  unknown  to  fame,  —  whose 

lays  and  life 
Fell  sliort  of  the  sublime. 

Yet,  as  his  poems  ('t  was  the  critics' 

praise) 

Betrayed  a  careful  mind, 
His  life,  with  less  of  license  than 

his  lays, 
To  Virtue  was  inclined. 

Whate'er  of  Wit  the  kindly  Muse 

supplied 

He  ever  strove  to  bend 
To   Folly's   hurt;    nor  once   with 

wanton  pride 
Employed  to  pain  a  friend. 

He  loved  a  quip,  but  in  his  jesting 

vein 
With  studious  care  effaced 


THE  MOURNER  A   LA   MODE. 


11 


The  doubtful  word  that  threatened 

to  profane 
The  sacred  or  the  chaste. 

He  loathed  the  covert,  diabolic  jeer 
That  conscience  undermines; 

No  hinted    sacrilege    nor    sceptic 

sneer 
Lurks  in  his  laughing  lines. 

With  satire's  sword  to  pierce  the 

false  and  wrong; 
A  ballad  to  invent 
That  bore  a  wholesome  sermon  in 

the  song,  — 
Such  was  the  poet's  bent. 

In  social  converse,  "  happy  as  a 

king," 

When  colder  men  refrained 
From  daring  flights,   he  gave  his 

fancy  wing 
And  freedom  unrestrained. 

And  golden  thoughts,  at  times,  — 

a  motley  brood,  — 
Came  flashing  from  the  mine; 
And  fools  who  saw  him  in  his  merry 

mood 
Accused  the  untasted  wine. 

He  valued  friendship's  favor  more 

than  fame. 

And  paid  his  social  dues; 
He  loved  his  Art, — but  held  his 

manly  name 
Far  dearer  than  his  Muse. 

And  partial  friends,  while  gayly 

laughing  o'er 

The  merry  lines  they  quote, 
Cay  with  a  sigh,  "  To  us  the  man 

was  more 
Than  aught  he  ever  wrote ! ' ' 


THE  MOURNER  A  LA  MODE. 

I  SAW  her  last  night  at  a  party 
(The  elegant  party  at  Mead's), 


And  looking  remarkably  hearty 
For  a  widow  so  young  in  her 

weeds; 

Yet  I  know  she  was  suffering  sor 
row 

Too  deep  for  the  tongue  to  ex 
press,  — 

Or  why  had  she  chosen  to  borrow 
So  much  from  the  language  o\ 
dress? 

Her  shawl  was  as  sable  as  night; 
And  her  gloves  were  as  dark  as 

her  shawl ; 
And  her  jewels  —  that  flashed  in 

the'  light  — 

Were  black  as  a  funeral  pall ; 
Her  robe  had  the  hue  of  the  rest, 

(How  nicely  it  fitted  her  shape ! ) 
And  the  grief  that  was  heaving  her 

breast 
Boiled  ove^  in  billows  of  crape! 

What  tears  of  vicarious  woe, 

That  else  might  have  sullied  her 

face, 
Were  kindly  permitted  to  flow 

In  ripples  of  ebony  lace ! 
While  even  her  fan,  in  its  play, 

Had  quite  a  lugubrious  scope, 
And  seemed  to  be  waving  away 

The  ghost  of  the  angel  of  Hope ! 

Yet  rich  as  the  robes  of  a  queen 
Was  the    sombre    apparel    she 

wore; 

I  'm  certain  I  never  had  seen 
Such    a   sumptuous  sorrow  be 
fore; 
And  I  could  n't  help  thinking  the 

beauty, 
In  mourning  the  loved  and  the 

lost, 

Was  doing  her  conjugal  duty 
Altogether  regardless  of  cost! 

One.  surely  would  say  a  devotion 
Performed  at  so  vast  an  expense 


12 


THE  EXPECTED  SHIP. 


Betrayed  an  excess  of  emotion 
That  was  really  something  im 
mense; 
And  yet  as  I  viewed,  at  mf  leisure, 

Those  tokens  of  tender  regard, 
I  thought:  —  It  is  scarce  without 

measure  — 

The  sorrow   that    goes   by   the 
yard ! 

All !  grief  is  a  curious  passion ; 

And  yours  — I  am  sorely  afraid 
The  very  next  phase  of  the  fashion 

Will  find  it  beginning  to  fade; 
Though  dark  are  the  shadows  of 

grief. 
The    morning    will    follow    the 

night, 

Half-tints  will  betoken  relief, 
Till  joy  shall   be  symboled    in 
white ! 

Ah  well !  it  were  idle'  to  quarrel 
With  Fashion,  or  aught  she  may 

do; 

And  so  I  conclude  with  a  moral 
And       metaphor  —  warranted 

new :  — 
When   measles  come   handsomely 

out, 

The  patient  is  safest,  they  say; 
And    the    Sorrow  is    mildest,  no 

doubt, 
That  works  in  a  similar  way ! 


THE  EXPECTED  SHIP. 

THUS  I  heard  a  poet  say, 
As  he  sang  in  merry  glee, 

"  Ah !  't  will  be  a  golden  day, 
When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the 
sea! 

"  I  do  know  a  cottage  fine, 
As  a  poet's  house  should  be, 

\nd  the  cottage  shall  be  mine, 
When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the 
sea! 


"I  do  know  a  maiden  fair, 
Fair,    and    fond,    and    dear    to 

me, 

And  we  '11  be  a  wedded  pair. 
When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the 
sea! 

"  And  within  that  cottage  fine, 
Blest  as  any  king  ma;,  be, 

Every  pleasure  shall  be  mine, 
When  my  ship  comes  o'er  the 
sea! 

"To  be  rich  is  to  be  great; 

Love  is  only  for  the  free; 
Grant  me  patience,  while  I  wait 

Till    my   ship   comes   o'er    the 
sea!  " 

Months  and  years  have  come  and 
gone 

Since  the  poet  snng  to  me, 
Yet  he  still  keeps  hoping  on 

For  the  ship  from  o'er  the  sea! 

Thus  the  siren  voice  of  Hope 
Whispers  still  to  you  and  me 

Of  something  in  the  future's  scope, 
Some  golden  ship  from  o'er  the 
sea! 

Never  sailor  yet  hath  found, 
Looking  windward  or  to  lee, 

Any  vessel  homeward  bound, 
Like    that  ship    from   o'er  the 
sea! 

Never  comes  the  shining  deck  ; 

But  that  tiny  cloud  may  be  — 
Though  it  seems  themerest  speck — 

The  promised  ship  from  o'er  the 
sea! 

Never  looms  the  swelling  sail, 
But  the  wind  is  blowing  free, 

And  that  may  be  the  precious  gale 
That  brings  the  ship  from  o'er 
the  sea ! 


TV/A'  PROUD   .\f/SS   MACBRIDE. 


THE  HEAD  AND  THE  HEART. 

THE   head   is   stately,   calm,   and 
wise, 

And  bears  a  princely  part; 
And  down  below  in  secret  lies 

The  warm,  impulsive  heart. 

The  lordly  head  that  sits  above, 
The  heart  that  beats  below, 

Their  several  office  plainly  prove, 
Their  true  relation  show. 

The  head,  erect,  serene,  and  cool, 
Endowed  with  Reason's  art, 

Was  set  aloft  to  guide  and  rule 
The  throbbing,  wayward  heart. 

And  from  the  head,  as  from  the 
higher, 

Comes  every  glorious  thought; 
And  in  the  heart's  transforming  fire 

All  noble  deeds  are  wrought. 

Yet  each  is  best  when  both  unite 
To  make  the  man  complete ; 

What   were  the  heat  without  the 

light? 
The  light,  without  the  heat? 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 


A    LEGEND   OF   GOTHAM. 


(),  TKKKIBLY  proud  was  Miss  Mac- 
Bride, 

The  very  personification  of  Pride, 

As  she  minced  along  in  Fashion's 
tide, 

Adown  Broadway,  — on  the  proper 

side,  — 

When  the  golden  sun  was  set 
ting; 

There  was  pride  in  the  head  she 
carried  so  high, 


Pride  inherlip,  and  pride  -nhereye 
And  a  world  of  pride  intheverysigb 
That  her  stately  bosom  was  fret 
ting; 

n. 

A  sigh  that  a  pair  of  elegant  feet, 
Sandalled  in  satin,  should  kiss  the 

street,  — 
The   very   same   that    the   vulgat 

greet 
In     common     leather    not     ovei 

•'  neat,"  — 
For  such  is   the  common  boot 

ing; 
(And  Christian  tears  may  well  be 

shed, 
That  even  among  our  gentlemen 

bred, 
The  glorious  day  of  Morocco   it 

dead, 
And  Day  and  Martin  are  raining 

instead. 
On  a  much  inferior  footing!) 

in. 

0,  terribly  proud  •wa",  5>liss  Mac- 
Bride, 

Proud  of  her  beauty,  and  proud  of 
her  T>riue, 

And  proud  of  fifty  matters  beside, 

.    That  would  n't  have  borne  dis 
section; 

Proud  of  Lier  wit,  and  proud  of  her 
wjtlk, 

Proud  of  her  teeth,  and  proud  of 
her  talk, 

Proud  of  "  knowing  cheese  from 

chalk," 
On  a  very  slight  inspection ! 

IV. 

Proud  abroad,  and  proud  at  home, 
Proud   wherever  she   chanced  to 

come, 
When  she  was  glad,  and  when  she 

was  glum ; 

Proud  as  the  head  of  a  Sar 
acen 


14 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MAC  BRIDE. 


Over  the  door  of  a  tippling  shop !  — 
Proud  as  a  duchess,  proud  as  a 

fop, 
"Proud  as  a  boy  with  a  bran-new 

top," 
Proud  beyond  comparison ! 


It    seems     a    singular    thing    to 

say, 
But  her  very  senses  led  her  astray 

Respecting  all  humility; 
In  sooth,  her  dull  auricular  drum 
Could    find    in    Humble    only     a 

"hum," 
And  heard  no  sound  of  "  gentle  " 

come, 
In  talking  about  gentility. 

VI. 

What    Lowly  meant    she    did  n't 
know, 

For  she  always  avoided  "  every 
thing  low," 

With    care    the    most    punctil 
ious, 

And  queerer  still,  the  audible  sound 

Of  "  super-silly "    she  never  had 

found 
In  the  adjective  supercilious! 


The.  meaning  of  Mttk  she  never 
knew, 

But  imagined  the  phrase  had  some 
thing  to  do 

With  "  Moses,"  —  a  peddling  Ger 
man  Jew, 

Who,  like  all  hawkers  the  country 

through, 
Was  a  person  of  no  position ; 

Ana  it  seemed  to  her  exceedingly 
plain, 

If  the  word  was  really  known  to 
pertain 

To  a  vulgar   German,  it  was  n't 

germane 
To  a  lady  of  high  condition! 


VIII. 

Even  her  graces,  —  not  her  grace, 
For  that  was    in   the    "  vocative 

case,"  — 
Chilled  with  the  touch  of  her  icy 

face, 

Sat  very  stiffly  upon  her; 
She  never  confessed  a  favor  aloud, 
Like  one  of  the  simple,  common 

crowd, 
But    coldly    smiled,    and    faintly 

bowed, 
As  who  should  say:  "You  do  me 

proud, 
And  do  yourself  an  honor!  " 


And  vet  the  pride  of  Miss  Mac- 

"  Bride, 
Although  it  had   fifty  hobbies  ta 

ride, 

Had  really  no  foundation ; 
But,  like  the  fabrics  that  gossips 

devise,  — 

Those  single  stories  that  often  arise 
And  grow  till  they  reach  a  four- 
story  size, 
Was  merely  a  fancy  creation ! 


'Tis  a  curious  fact  as  ever   was 

known 
In  human  nature,  but  often  shown 

Alike  in  castle  and  cottage, 
That  pride,  like  pigs  of  a  certain 

breed, 
Will  manage  to  live  and  thrive  on 

"  feed ' ' 

As    poor    as    a    pauper's    pot 
tage  ! 

XI. 

That  her  wit  should  never  have 

made  her  vain, 
Was,    like    her    face,    sufficiently 

plain; 
And    as    to    her  musical  pov  - 

ers, 


THE.  PROUD  MJSS  MACBRIDE. 


15 


Although  she  sang  until  she  was 

hoarse, 
And  issued  notes  with  a  Banker's 

force, 
They  were  just  such  notes  as  we 

never  indorse 
For  any  acquaintance  of  ours! 


Her  birth,    indeed,    was    uncom 
monly  high, 
For  Miss   MacBride  first  opened 

.  her  eye 
Through   a  skylight  dim,  on   the 

light  of  the  sky; 
But   pride    is     a    curious    pas 
sion, 
And  in  talking  about  her  wealth 

and  worth 
She  always  forgot  to  mention  her 

birth, 

To    people  of    rank   and  fash 
ion! 

XIII. 

Of  all  the  notable  things  on  earth, 
The    queerest    one     is    pride    of 

birth, 
Among  our   "fierce    Democra- 

cie  " ! 

A  bridge  across  a  hundred  years, 
Without  a  prop  to  save  it   from 

sneers,  — 
Not    even    a     couple    of    rotten 

Peer?,  — 
A  thing  for  laughter,  fleers,  and 

jeers, 
.     Is  American  aristocracy ! 

XIV. 

English    and    Irish,    French    and 
Spanish, 

German,  Italian,  Dutch,  and  Dan 
ish, 

Crossing    their    veins    until   they 

vanish 
In  one  conglomeration ! 

So  subtle  a  tangle  of  Blood,  indeed, 


No  modern  Harvey  will  ever  suc 
ceed 
In  finding  the  circulation! 

xv. 

Depend  upon  it,  my  snobbish 
friend, 

Your  family  thread  you  can't 
ascend, 

Without  good  reason  to  apprehend 

You  may  find  it  waxed  at  the 
farther  end 

By  some  plebeian  vocation; 

Or,  worse  than  that,  your  boasted 
Line 

May  end  in  a  loop  of  stronger  twine, 
That  plagued  some  worthy  rela 
tion! 

XVI. 

But  Miss  MacBride  had  something 

beside 
Her    lofty   birth    to    nourish    her 

pride; 

For  rich  was  the  old  paternal  Mac- 
Bride, 

According  to  public  rumor; 
And  he  lived  "  Up  Town,"  iu  a 

splendid  square, 
And  kept  his  daughter  on  dainty 

fare, 
And  gave  her  gems  that  were  rich 

and  rare, 
And  the  finest  rings  and  things  to 

wear, 
And  feathers  enough  to  plume 

her ! 

XVII. 

An   honest    mechanic    was   John 

MacBride 
As  ever  an  honest  calling  plied, 

Or  graced  an  honest  ditty; 
For  John  had  worked,  in  his  early 

day, 
In  "  Pots  and  Pearls,"  the  legends 

silY» 
And  kept  a  shop  with  a  rich  array 


16 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 


Of  things  in  the  soap  and  candle 

way, 
In  the  lower  part  of  the  city. 

XVIII. 

No  rara  avis  was  honest  John, 

(That 's    the    Latin     for    "  sable 

swan,") 

Though,    in    one   of   his   fancy 
flashes, 

A  wicked  wag,  who  meant  to  de 
ride, 

Called  honest  John  "  Old  Phoenix 

MacBride, 

"  Because    he    rose    from    his 
ashes!  " 

XIX. 

Alack !  for  many  ambitious  beaux ! 
(She  hung  their  hopes  upon  her  nose, 

(The    figure     is     quite     Hora- 

tian!)* 

Until  from  habit  the  member  grew 
As  queer  a  thing  as  ever  you  knew 

Turn  up  to  observation ! 


A  thriving  tailor  begged  her  hand, 

But  she  gave  "  the  fellow  "  to  un 
derstand, 
By  a  violent  manual  action, 

She  perfectly  scorned  the  best  of 
his  clan, 

And   reckoned   the   ninth  of  any 

man 

An    exceedingly   Vulgar   Frac 
tion  1 

XXI. 

Another,  whose  sign  was  a  golden 
boot, 

Was  mortified  with  a  bootless  suit, 
In  a  way  that  was  quite  appall 
ing? 

For  though  a  regular  sutor  by  trade, 

He  was  n't  a  suitor  to  suit  the  maid, 

•  "  Omnia  aucpendens  iiuso." 


Who  cut  him  off  with  a  saw,  — and 

bade 

"  The  cobbler  keep  to  his  call 
ing." 

xxn. 

(The  Muse  must  let  a  secret  out,  — 

There  is  n't  the  faintest  shadow  of 
doubt, 

That  folks  who  oftenest  sneer  and 

flout 

At    "the    dirty,  low    mechani 
cals," 

Are  they  whose  sires,  by  pounding 
their  knees, 

Or  coiling  their  legs,  or  trades  like 
these, 

Contrived  to  win  their  children  ease 
From    poverty's   galling   mana 
cles.  ) 

XXIII. 

A  rich  tobacconist  comes  and  sues, 
And,    thinking    the    lady    would 

scarce  refuse 
A  man  of  his  wealth  and  liberal 

views, 
Began,   at  once,    with,    "  If   you 

choose,  — 
And     could     you    really    love 

him  —  " 
But  the  lady  spoiled  his  speech  in 

a  huff, 
With  an  answer  rough  and  ready 

enough, 
To  let  him  know  she  was  up  to 

snuff, 
And  altogether  above  him! 

XXIV. 

A  young  attorney  of  winning  grace 
Was  scarce  allowed  to  "  open  his 

face," 
Ere  Miss  MacBride  had  closed  his 

case 

With  true  judicial  celerity; 
For   the    lawyer    was    poor,    ant] 

''  seedy  "  to  boot, 


'///A'  PROUD   Jf/SS   MACBRIDE. 


17 


And  to  say  the  lad}'  discarded  his 

suit, 
Is  merely  a  double  verity. 

XXV. 

The  last  of  those   who   came   to 

court 
Was  a  lively  beau  of  the  dapper 

sort, 
"Without    any  visible  means  of 

support,"  - 

A  crime  by  no  means  flagrant 
In  one  who  wears  an  elegant  coat, 
But  the  very  point  on  which  they 

vote 
A  rugged  fellow  "  a  vagrant." 

XXVI. 

A    courtly    fellow    was    Dapper 

Jim, 
Sleek   and    supple,    and   tall    and 

trim, 
And  smooth  of  tongue  as  neat  of 

limb; 

And,  maugre  his  meagre  pocket, 
You  'd  say,  from  the  glittering  tales 

he  told, 
That  Jim  had  slept  in  a  cradle  of 

gold, 
With  Fortunatus  to  rock  it ! 

XXVII. 

Now   Dapper   Jim    his   courtship 

plied 

(I  wish  the  fact  could  be  denied) 
With  an  eye  to  the  purse  of  the  old 

Mac  Bride, 

And  really  "  nothing  shorter"  ! 
For  he  said  to  himself,  in  his  greedy 

lust, 
"Whenever  he  dies, — as  die  he 

must,  — 

And  yields  to  Heaven  his  vital  trust, 
He  's  very  sure  to  '  come  down  with 

his  dust,1 

In  behalf   of   his  only   daugh 
ter." 


XXVIIT. 

And    the  very  magnificent   Miss 

MacBride, 
Half  in  love  and  half  in  pride, 

Quite  graciously  relented; 
And  tossing  her  head,  and  turning 

her  back, 

No  token  of  proper  pride  to  lack, 
To  be  a  Bride  without  the  "  Mac," 
With  much  disdain,  consented. 

XXIX. 

Alas !  that  people  who  've  got  their 
box 

Of  cash  beneath  the  best  of  locks, 

Secure  from  all  financial  shocks, 

Should  stock  their  fancy  with  fancy 
stocks, 

And  madly  rush  upon  Wall  Street 

rocks, 
Without  the  least  apology; 

Alas!    that   people  whose  money 
affairs 

Are  sound  beyond  all  need  of  re 
pairs, 

Should  ever  tempt  the  bulls  and 

bears 
Of  Mammon's  fierce  Zoology! 


Old    John     MacBride,    one     fatal 

day, 

Became  the  unresisting  prey 
Of  Fortune's  undertakers; 
And  staking  his  all  on  a  single  die. 
His  foundered  bark  went  high  and 

dry 

Among  the  brokers  and  break 
ers! 

XXXI. 

At  his  trade  again  in  the  very  shop 
Where,  years  before,  he  let  it  drop, 
He    follows    his    ancient    call 
ing,  — 
Cheerily,  too,  in  poverty's  spite, 


18 


THE  PROUD  MISS  MACBRIDE. 


And  sleeping  quite  as  sound  at 

night, 

As  when,  at  Fortune's  giddy  height, 

He  used  to  wake  with  a  dizzv  fright 

From  a  dismal  clrea.n  of  falling. 

XXXII. 

But  alas  for  the  haughty  Miss  Mac- 
Bride! 

'T  was  such  a  shock  to  her  precious 
pride, 

She  could  n't  recover,  although  she 

tried 
Her  jaded  spirits  to  rally; 

'T  was  a  dreadful  change  in  human 
affairs 

From  a  Place  "Up  Town"  to  a 

nook  "  Up  Stairs," 
From  an  Avenue   down   to  an 
Alley ! 

XXXIII. 

'T  was  little  condolence  she  had, 
God  wot, 

From  her  "  troops  of  friends,"  who 

had  n't  forgot 
The  airs  she  used  to  borrow; 

They  had  civil  phrases  enough,  but 
yet 

'T  was    plain    to    see    that    their 

"  deepest  regret" 
Was  a  different  thing  from  Sor 
row! 

XXXIV. 

They  owned  it  could  n't  have  well 
been  worse, 

To  go  from   a  full  to  an  empty 
purse; 

To  expect  a  reversion  and  get  a 

"  reverse," 
Was  truly  a  dismal  feature; 

But    it    was  n't    strange,  —  they 
whispered.  —  at  all; 

That  the  Summer  of  pride  should 

have  its  Fall 

Was    quite    according    to    Na 
ture  ! 


XXXV. 

And  one  of  those  chaps  who  make 

a  pun  — 

As  if  it  were  quite  legitimate  fun 
To    be    blazing    away    at    every 

one, 
With    a    regular    double  -  loaded 

gun  — 

Remarked  that  moral  transgres 
sion 

Always  brings  retributive  stings 
To  candle-makers,  as  well  as  kings ' 
And  making  light  of  cereous  things 
Was    a    very    wick-ed    profes 
sion! 

XXXVI. 

And    vulgar    people,    the    saucy 
churls, 

Inquired    about    "the    price    of 

Pearls," 
And  mocked  at  her  situation; 

"  She   was  n't    ruined,  they  ven 
tured  to  hope; 

Because  she  was  poor,  she  needn't 
mope,  — 

Few  people  were  better  off  for  soap, 
And  that  was  a  consolation!  " 

XXXVII. 

And  to  make  her  cup  of  woe  run 

over, 

Her  elegant,  ardent,  plighted  lover 
Was  the  very   first   to    forsake 

her; 
He  quite  regretted  the  step,  't  was 

true,  — 
The  lady   had    pride    enough  for 

two, 

But  that  alone  would  never  do 
To     quiet     the     butcher     and 

baker! 

XXXVIII. 

And  now  the  unhappv  Miss  Mac- 
Bride, 

The  merest  ghost  of  her  early  pride, 
Bewails  her  lonely  position; 


THE  MASQUERADE. 


19 


tramped   in   the   very    narrowest 

niche, 

^bove  the  poor,  and  below  the  rich, 
Was  ever  a  worse  condition  'I 

MORAL. 

Because  you   flourish  in   worldly 

affairs, 
Don't  be  haughty,  and  put  on  airs, 

With  insolent  pride  of  station! 
Don't  be  proud,  and' turn  up  your 

nose 

At  poorer  people  in  plainer  clo'es, 
But  learn,  for   the   sake   of  your 

soul's  repose, 
That    wealth  's    a    bubble,    that 

conies,  —  and  goes ! 
And  that  all  Proud  Flesh,  wherever 

it  grows, 
Is  subject  to  irritation ! 


THE  MASQUERADE. 

ocrt?,   TJT'    fx\f\fje    voov   TTVKO. 

fypOVtOVTViV. 

IIOM.  II.  xiv.  217. 


COUNT  FELIX  was  a  m«n  of  worth 

By  Fashion's  strictest  definition, 

For  he  had  money,  manners,  birth, 

And  that  most  slippery  thing  on 

earth 

Which   social   critics   call   posi 
tion. 


And  yet  the  Count  was  seldom 

'gfi.v; 
The  rich  and  noble   have  their 

crosses  ; 

And  he  —  as  he  was  wont  to  say  — 
Had  seen  some  trouble  in  his  day, 
And   met   with   several    serious 
losses. 


Among  the  rest,  he  lost  his  wife, 

A  very  model  of  a  woman, 
With  every  needed  virtue  rife 
To  lead  a  spouse  a  happy  life,  — 
Such  wives  (in  France)  are  not 
uncommon. 


The  lady  died,  and  left  him  sad 
And  lone,  to  mourn  the  best  of 

spouses : 

She  left  him  also  — let  me  add  — 
One  chilil,  and  all  the  wealth  she 

had,— 
The  rent  of  half  a  dozen  houses. 


I  cannot  tarry  to  discuss 

The  weeping  husband's  desola 
tion; 

Upon  her  tomb  he  wrote  it  thus :  — 
"  FELIX  infelicissimus  !  " 

In  very  touching  ostentation. 


Indeed,     the     Count's     behavior 

earned 

The  plaudits  of  his  strict  con 
fessor  ; 

His  weeds  of  woe  had  fairly  turned 
From  black  to  brown,  ere  he  had 

learned 

To  think  about  his  wife's  suc 
cessor. 


And  then,   indeed,   't  was  but  a 

thought ; 

A  sort  of  sentimental  dreaming, 
That  came  at  times,  and  came  — 

to  naught, 
With     all    the    plans    so    nicely 

wrought 

By  matrons  skilled  in  marriage- 
scheming. 


20 


THE  MASQUERADE. 


VIII. 

At  last  when  many  years  had  fled, 
And  Father  Time,  the  great  phy 
sician, 
Had   soothed  his  sorrow   for   the 

dead, 

Count  Felix  took  it  in  his  head 
To  change  his  wearisome   con 
dition. 

IX. 

You  think,  perhaps,  't  was  quickly 

done; 
The  Count  was  *ti!I  a   man   of 

fashion ; 

Wealth,  title,  talents,  all  in  one, 
Were  eloquence  to  win  a  nun, 
If  nuns  could  feel  a  worldly  pas- 


And  yet  the  Count  might  well  de 
spond 

Of  tying  soon  the  silken  tether; 
Wise,    witty,    handsome,   faithful, 

fond. 

And  twenty  —  not  a  year  beyond — 
Are     charming,  —  when     they 
come  together ! 


But  more  than  that,  the  man  re 
quired 
A  wife  to  share  his  whims  and 

fancies ; 

Admire  alone  what  lie  admired; 
Desire,  of  course,  as  he  desired, 
And  show  it  in  her  very  glances. 

XII. 

Long,    long  the    would-be    wooer 

tried 

To    find    his    precious    ultima 
tum,  — 

All   earthly  charms   in    one    fair 
bride; 

But  still   in   vain  he   sought  and 

sighed ; 

He  could  n't  manage  to  get  at 
'em. 


XIII. 

In  sooth,  the   Count  was  one   of 

those 

Who,  seeking  something  super 
human, 

Find   not   the   angel   they    would 
choose, 

And  —  what  is   more   unlucky  — 

lose 

Their  chance  to  wed  a  charming 
woman. 

XIV. 

The    best-matched   doves    in   Hy 
men's  cage 
Were  paired  in  youth's  romantic 

season ; 

Laugh  as  you  will  at  passion's  rage, 
The  most  unreasonable  age 
Is  \vhat  is  called  the  age  of  rea 
son. 

xv. 
In  love-affairs,  we  all  have  seen, 

The  heart  is  oft  the  best  adviser; 
The  gray  might  well  consult  the 

"  green," 

Cool  sixty  learn  of  rash  sixteen. 
And  go  away  a  deal  the  wiser. 

XVI. 

The  Count's  high  hopes  began  to 

fade;. 

His  plans  were  not  at  all  advan 
cing; 
When,    lo! — one    day    his    valet 

made 

Some  mention  of  a  masquerade,  — 
"  I  '11  go,"  said  he, —  "and  sco 
the  dancing." 

XVII. 

'•  'T  will  serve  my  spirits  to  arou^o ; 
And,  faith!  I'm  getting  melan 
choly. 

'T  is  not  the  place  to  seek  a  spouse, 
Where  people  go    to   break  their 

vows,  — 

But   then  't  will    be    extremely 
jolly!" 


THE  MA  S  Q,  UK  HA  I>  E. 


XVIII. 

Count  Felix  found  the  crowd  im 
mense, 

And,  hud  lie  been  a  censor  mo- 
rum, 

He  might  have  said,  without  of 
fence, 

"  Got  up  regardless  of  expense, 
And  some  —  regardless  of  deco 
rum." 

XIX. 

''Faith !  — all  the  world  is  here  to 
night'  " 

"  Xay,"  said  a  merry  friend  de 
murely, 
'  Not  quite  the  whole,  — pardon  ! 

—  not  quite; 

Le  Demi-Monde  were  nearer  right, 
And  no  exaggeration,  surely  !  " 

xx. 

The  revelry  ('t  was  just  begun) 
A  stoic  might  have  found  divert 
ing; 

That  is,  of  course,  if  he  was  one 
Who  liked  to  see  a  bit  of  fun, 
And  fancied  persiflage  and  flirt 
ing. 

XXI. 

But  who   can    paint    that    giddy 

max.e  'i 

Go  find  the  lucky  man  who  han 
dles 

A  brush  to  catch,  on  gala-days, 
The    whirling,    shooting,    flashing 

rays 

Of  Catherine-wheels  and  Roman 
candles ! 

XXII. 

All  sorts  of  masks  that  e'er  were 

seen ; 

Fantastic,  comic,  and  satanic; 
Dukes,  dwarfs,  and  "  Highnesses" 

(Serene), 
And  (that 's  of  course,1  the  Cyprian 

Queen, 
In  gauzes  few  and  diaphanic. 


XXIII. 

Lean  Carmelites,  fat  Capuchins, 
Giants  half  human  and  half  bes 
tial; 

Kings,  Queens,  Magicians,  Harle 
quins, 

Greeks,  Tartars,  Turks,  and  Man 
darins 
More  diabolic  than  "  Celestial.1'1 

XXIV. 

Fair   Scripture    dames,  —  Naomi, 

Uuth, 

And   Hagar,   }<x>king  quite  de 
mented; 
The      \rirtues      (all  —  excepting 

Truth) 

And  Magdalens,  who  were  in  sooth 
Just  half  of  what  they  repre 
sented  ! 

XXV. 

Fates,   Furies,  Fairies,  —  all    the 

best 

And  worst  of  Fancy's  weird  cre 
ation; 

Psyche  and  Cupid  (demi-dressed) 

With  several  Vestals  —  by  request, 

And  solely  for  that  one  occasion. 

XXVI. 

And  one,  among  the  motley  brood, 
He  saw,  who  shunned  the  wan 
ton  dances; 

A  sort  of  demi-nun,  who  stood 
In  ringlets  flashing  from  a  hood, 
And  seemed  to  seek  our  hero's 
glances. 

XXVII. 

The  Count,  delighted  with  her  air, 
Drew  near,  the  better  to  betiold 

her; 
Her  form  was  slight,  her  skin  was 

fair, 
And  maidenhood,  you  well  might 

swear, 
BreathM  from  the  dimples  in  her 


22 


THE  MASQUERADE. 


XXVIII. 

He   spoke;  she   answered   with  a 

grace 
That  showed  the  girl  no  vulgar 

heiress ; 
And,  —  if  the   features   one  jnay 

trace 

In  voices,  —  hers  betrayed  a  face 
The  finest  to  be  found  in  Paris! 

XXIX. 

And  then  such  wit !  —  in  repartee 
She  shone  without  the  least  en 
deavor  ; 

A  beauty  and  a  btl-f  sprit ! 
A  scholar,    too,  —  't  was   plain  to 

see. 
Who  ever  saw  a  girl  so  clever  V 

XXX. 

Her  taste  he  ventured  to  explore 
In  books,    the  graver   and    the 

lighter, 
And   mentioned    authors    by    the 

score; 

Mon  Dieu  !  in  every  sort  of  lore 
She  always  chose   his   favorite 
writer ! 

XXXI. 

She  loved  the  poets;  but  confessed 
Racine  beat  all  the  others  hol 
low  ; 
At  least,  she  thought  his  style  the 

best  — 

(Racine!  his  literary  test ! 
Racine !  his  Maximus  Apollo  !) 

XXXII. 

Whatever  topic  he  might  name, 
Their  minds  were  strangely  sym 
pathetic; 
Of  courtship,   marriage,    fashion. 

fame, 
their  views  and  feelings  were  the 

same,  — 

"  Parbleu  !  "  he  cried,  "  it  looks 
prophetic!  " 


XXXIII. 

"  Come,    let   us   st-ek   an    ampler 

space; 
This     heated     room — I    can't 

abide  it ! 
That  mask,   1  'in   sure,  is  out  of 

place, 
And   hides    the    fairest,    sweetest 

face  —  " 
Said  she.  "  I  wear  the   mask  to 

hide  it!  " 

XXXIV. 

The  answer  was  extremely  pat, 
And  gave   the   Count  a   deal   of 

pleasure : 
"C"es?  rrtii!  I   did  not  think  of 

that! 

Come,  let  us  go  where  we  can  chat 
And  eat  (I  'in  hungry)  at  our  lei 
sure." 

XXXV. 

"I'm  hungry  too!"  she  said, — . 

and  went, 
Without  the    least  attempt    to 

coxen, — 

Like  ladies  who  refuse,  relent, 
Debate,  oppose,  and  then  consent 
To  —  eat  enough  for  half  a  dozen! 

XXXVI.  • 

And  so  they  sat  them  down  to  dine, 
Sulus  cum  sola,  gay  and  merry; 
The  Count  inquires  the  sort  of  wine 
To   which   his    charmer  may   in 
cline; 

All!   qudle  mervtille !   she   an 
swers,  •'  Sherry!  " 

XXXVII. 

What  will  she  eat?     She  takes  the 

carte, 
And  notes  the  viands  that  she 

wishes ; 
*'  Pardon,  Monsieur!  what  makes 

you  start?  " 


MY  FAMILIAR. 


23 


A»  if  she  knew  his  tastes  by  heart, 
The    lady   named    his    favorite 

dishes! 

XXXVIII. 

Was  e'er  such  sympathy  before? 
The  Count  was  really  half  de 
mented; 
He  kissed  her  hand,  and  roundly 

swors 
He    loved    her    perfectly !  —  and, 

jnore,  — 

He  M  wed  her  —  if  the  gods  con 
sented  ! 

XXXIX. 

''  Monsieur  is  very  kind,"  she  said, 

"  His  love  so  lavishly  bestowing 

On    one    who    never    thought    to 

wed.  — - 
And  least  of  all "  —  she  raised  her 

head— 

'•  'T  is  late,  Sir  Knight,  I  must 
be  going!  " 

XL. 

Count  Felix  sighed,  —  and  while  he 

drew 

Her  shawl  about  her,  at  his  lei 
sure, 

"What  street  V"  he  asked;  "  my 
cab  is  due." 

"No,  no  !  "  she  said,  "  I  go  iritli 

you! 

That  is  —  if  it  may  be  your  pleas 
ure." 


Of  course,  there 's  little  need  to  say 
The  Count  delighted  in  her  cap 
ture  ; 

Away  he  drove,  and  all  the  way 
He  murmured,  "Quellejelicite)" 
In  very  ecstasy  of  rapture ! 

xr.ii. 

Arrived   at  home — just  where  a 

fount 
Shot  forth  a  jet  of  lucent  water  — 


He  helped  the  lady  to  dismount; 
She  drops  her  mask,  and  lo !  the 

Count 
Sees  —  Dim  de  del! — his  only 

daughter ! 

XLIII. 
"  Good  night!  "  she  said,  —  "  I  'ra 

very  well, 
Although  you  thought  my  health 

was  fading; 

Be  good  — and  I  will  never  tell 
('T  was  funny  though)  of  what  be 
fell 

When  you  and  I  went  .masquer 
ading!  "' 


MY   FAMILIAR. 

"  Ecce  iterum  Crispinus! : 


AGAIN  I  hear  that  creaking  step  J — • 

He  's  rapping  at  the  door!  — 
Too  well  I  know  the  boding  sound 

That  ushers  in  a  bore. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes. 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the 
friend 

Who  comes  —  but  never  goes ! 

ii. 
He  drops  into  my  easy-chair, 

And  asks  about  the  news; 
He  peers  into  my  manuscript, 

And  gives  his  candid  views; 
He  tells  me  where  he  likes  the  line, 

And  where  he  's  forced  to  grieve; 
He  takes  the  strangest  liberties, — 

But  never  takes  his  leave! 


He  reads  my  daily  paper  through 
Before  I  've  seen  a  word; 

He  scans  the  lyric  (that  I  wrote) 
And  thinks  it  quite  absurd; 

He  calmly  smokes  my  last  cigar, 
And  coolly  asks  for  more; 


24 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 


He  opens  everything  he  sees  — 
Except  the  entry  door ! 


He  talks  fibout  his  fragile  health, 

And  tells  me  of  the  pains    . 
He  suffers  from  a  score  of  ills 

Of  which  he  ne'er  complains; 
And  how  he  struggled  once  with 
death 

To  keep  the  fiend  at  bay ; 
On    themes    like   those  away   he 
goes,  — 

But  never  goes  away ! 

V*. 

He  tells  me  of  the  carping  words 

Some  shallow  critic  wrote; 
And  every  precious  paragraph 

Familiarly  can  quote; 
He  thinks  the  writer  did  me  wrong; 

He  'd  like  to  run  him  through! 
He    says     a    thousand    pleasant 
things,  — 

But  never  says,  "  Adieu !  " 


Whene'er  he  comes,  — that  dread 
ful  man,  — 

Disguise  it  as  I  may, 
I  know  that,  like  an  Autumn  rain, 

He  '11  last  throughout  the  day. 
In  vain  1  speak  of  urgent  tasks ; 

In  vain  I  scowl  and  pout; 
A  frown  is  no  extinguisher,  — 

It  does  not  put  him  out ! 


I  mean  to  take  the  knocker  off, 

Put  crape  upon  the  door, 
Or  hint  to  John  that  I  am  gone 

To  stay  a  month  or  more. 
I  do  not  tremble  when  I  meet 

The  stoutest  of  my  foes, 
But  Heaven  defend  me  from  the 
friend 

Who  never,  never  goes ! 


LOVE   AND  LAW. 

A   LEGEND   OF   BOSTON. 


JACK   NEWMAN    was    in  love;    a 

common  case 
With   boys    just  verging    upon 

manhood's  prime, 
When  every  damsel  with  a  pretty 

face 
Seems  some  bright  creature  from 

a  purer  clime, 
Sent  by  the  gods  to  bless  a  country 

town,  — 
A  pink-checked  angel  in  a  muslin 

gown. 

n. 

Jack  was  in  love ;  and  also  much 

in  doubt 
(As  thoughtful   lovers  oft   have 

been  before) 

If  it  were  better  to  be  in  or  out. 
Such  pain  alloyed  his  bliss.     On 

reason's  score, 

Perhaps  't  is  equally  a  sin  to  get 
Too  deep  in  love,  in  liquor,  or  in 

debt. 


The  lady  of  his  love,  Miss  Man1 

Blank 
(I  call  her  so  to  hide  her  real 

name), 
Was  fair  and  twenty,  and  in  social 

rank  — 
That  is,  in  riches  —  much  above 

her  flame  ; 
The  daughter  of  a  person  who  had 

tin 
Already  won ;  while  Jack  had  his 

to  win. 


Her  father  was  a  lawyer;  rather 

rusty 

In  legal  lore,  but  one  who  well 
had  striven 


LOVE  AND  LAW. 


25 


In  former  days  to  swell  his  "  res 

angustte  " 
To   broad   possessions;    and,  in 

short,  had  thriven 
Bravely  in  his  vocation;   though, 

the  fact  is, 
More  by  his  "  practices  "  ('t  was 

said)  than  practice! 


\ . 

A  famous  man  was  Blank  for  sound 

advice 
In  doubtful  cases;  for  example, 

where 
The  point  in  question  is  extremely 

nice, 
And  turns  upon  the  section  of  a 

hair; 
Or   where  —  which  seems  a  very 

common  pother  — 
Justice  looks  one  way,  and  the  Law 

another. 


Great  was  his  skill  to  make  or  mar 

a  plot  : 
To  prop,  at  need,  a  rotten  rep 

utation, 
Or  undermine  a  good  one;  he  had 

got 
By  heart    the  subtle  science  of 

evasion, 
And  knew  the  useful  art  to  pick  a 

flaw- 
Through    which  a   rascal    might 

escape  *he  law. 


Jack  was  his  pupil  ;  *nd  'tis  rather 

queer 
So  shrewd  a  coun.^c'lor  did  not 

discover, 
With  all  his  cunning  both  of  eye 

and  ear, 

That  this  same  pupP    was   hU 
daughter's  lover 


And  —  what  would  much  have 
shocked  his  legal  tutor  — 

Was  even  now  the  girl's  accepted 
suitor ! 


Fearing  a  non-suit,  if  the  lawyer 

knew 
The  case  too  soon,  Jack  kept  it 

to  himself; 
And,  stranger  still,  the  lady  kept 

it  too; 
For  well   he  knew  the  father's 

pride  of  pelf, 
Should  e'en  a  bare  suspicion  cross 

his  mind, 
Would  soon  abate  the  action  they 

designed. 

IX. 

For  Jack  was  impecunious;    and 

Blank 
Had  small  regard  for  people  who 

were  poor; 
Riches  to  him  were  beauty,  grace, 

and  rank: 
In  short,   the  man  was  one  of 

many  more 
Who  worship  money-bags  and  those 

who  own  'em, 
And  think  a  handsome  sum  the 

surnmum  bonum. 

x. 

I  'm  fond  of  civil  words,  and  do 

not  wish 

To  be   satirical;    but  none   de 
spise 
The  poor  so  truly  as  the  nmtveaux 

riche  ; 
And  here,    no  doubt,    the  real 

reason  lies, 
That   being   over-proud    of   what 

they  are, 

1   They  're    naturally    ashamed    of 
(  what  they  were. 


26 


RHYME   OF    THE  RAIL. 


Certain  to  meet  the  father's  cold 

negation, 
Jack  dare  not  ask  him  for  his 

daughter's  hand. 
What  should  he  do  ?    'T  was  surely 

an  occasion 
For  all   the  wit  a  lover  might 

command ; 
At  last  he  chose  (it  seemed  his  only 

hope) 
That  final    card    of    Cupid,  —  to 

elope ! 

XII. 

A  pretty  plan  to  please  a  penny-a- 
liner; 

But  far   less    pleasant   for    the 
leading  factor, 

Should  the  fair  maiden  chance  to 

be  a  minor 

(Whom  the  law  reckons  an  un 
willing  actor); 

And  here  Jack  found  a  rather  sad 
obstruction,  — 

He  might  be  caught  and  punished 
for  abduction. 

XIII. 

What  could  he  do?     Well,  —  here 

is  what  he  did: 
As   a  "moot-case"  to   Lawyer 

Blank  he  told 
The   whole   affair,   save   that  the 

names  were  hid. 
I  can't  help  thinking  it  was  rather 

bold, 
But    Love    is    partial    to    heroic 

schemes, 
And  often  proves  much  wiser  than 

he  seems. 

XIV. 

"  The  thing  is  safe  enough,  with 

proper  care," 
Observed   the  lawyer,    smiling. 

"  Here  's  your  course :  — 
Just  let  the  lady  manage  the  affair 


Throughout;    Videlicet,  she  gees 

the  horse, 
And  mounts  him,  unassisted,  first ; 

but  mind, 
The  woman  sits  before,  and  you, 

behind! 


"Then   who  is   the  abductor?  — 

Just  suppose 
A  court  and  jury  looking  at  the 

case ; 
What  ground  of  action  do  the  facts 

disclose? 
They  find  a  horse,  —  two  riders, 

—  and  a  race,  — 
And   you  'Not  Guilty';   for  'tis 

clearly  true 
The  dashing  damsel  ran  away  with 

you!  " 


XVII. 

These  social  sins  are  often  rather 

grave ; 

I  give  such  deeds  no  countenance 
of  mine; 

Nor  can  I  say  the  father  e'er  for 
gave  ; 

But  that  was  surely  a  propitious 
"sign," 

On    which    (in    after    years)   the 
words  I  saw 

Were,  "  BLANK    AND    NKNVMAN. 
COUNSELLORS  AT  LAW  !  " 


RHYME  OF  THE  RAIL. 

SIXGIXG  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whi/.zing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale,  — 


THE  BRIEFLESS   BARRISTER. 


27 


Bless  me!  this  is  pleasant, 
Hiding  on  Hie  Kail! 

MOH  of  different  "  stations  " 

In  the  eye  of  Fame 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 
High  and  lowly  people, 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together! 

Gentleman  in  short?, 

Looming  very  tall; 
G?ntleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien; 
Gentleman  in  gray, 

Looking  rather  green. 

l>ent!3inan  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news; 
Gentleman  in  black, 

In  a  (it  of  blues; 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar; 
Gentleman  in  Tweed, 

Dreadfully  in  liquor ! 

Stranger  on  the  right, 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 

Something  rather  funny. 

Now  the  smiles  are  thicker, 
Wonder  what  they  mean? 

Faith,  he  's  got  the  KNICKER 
BOCKER  Magazine! 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers-, 
Now  he  snores  amain. 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation^ 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  "  Association  "  .' 

Ancient  maiden  lady 
Anxiously  remarks, 


That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks! 
Roguish-looking  fellow, 

turning  to  the  stranger, 
Says  it 's  his  opinion 

She  is  out  of  danger! 

Woman  with  her  baby, 

Sitting  vig-a-ms ; 
Baby  keeps  a  squalling; 
*     Woman  looks  at  me; 
Asks  about  the  distance, 

Says  it's  tiresome  talking, 
Noises  of  the  cars 

Are  so  very  shocking! 

Market-woman  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket; 
Feeling  that  a  smash, 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely ! 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Humbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale; 
Bless  me!  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail! 


THE  BRIEFLESS  BARRISTER. 

A    BALLAD. 

AN  Attorney  was  taking  a  turn, 
In  shabby  habiliments  drest; 

His  coat  it  was  shockingly  worn, 
And  the  rust  had   invested  his 
vest. 

His  breeches  had  suffered  a  breach, 
His    linen    and    worsted    were 
worse ; 


28 


LITTLE  JERRY,    TIlK  MiLLER. 


He  had  scarce  a  whole  crown  in 

his  hat, 

And  not  half  a  crown  in  his 
purse. 

And  thus  as  he  wandered  along. 

A  cheerless  and  comfortless  elf, 
He  sought  for  relief  in  a  song. 

Or  complainingly  talked  to  him 
self:  — 

"  Unfortunate  man  that  I  am ! 

I've  never  a  client  but  grief: 
The  case  is,  I  've  no  case  at  all, 

And  in  brief,  I  've  ne'er  had  a 
brief! 

"  I  've  waited  and  waited  in  vain, 
Expecting  an  'opening'  to  find, 

Where   an   honest   young  lawyer 

might  gain 
Some  reward  for  toil  of  his  mind. 

"  'T  is  not  that  I  'm  wanting  in 
law, 

Or  lack  an  intelligent  face, 
That  others  have  cases  to  plead, 

While  I  have  to  plead  for  a  case. 

"  0,  how  can  a  modest  young  man 
E'er  hope  for  the  smallest  pro 
gression,  — 

The  profession  's  already  so  full 
Of  lawyers   so    full    of  profes 
sion!  " 

While  thus  he  was  strolling  around, 
His  eye  accidentally  fell 

On  a  very  deep  hole  in  the  ground, 
And  he  sighed  to  himself,  "  It  is 
well!" 

To  curb  his  emotions,  he  sat 
On  the  curbstone  the  space  of  a 

minute, 
Then  cried,  "  Here  's  an  opening  at 

last!  " 
And  in  less  than  a  jiffy  was  in  it ! 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came 
('T  was  the  coroner  bade  them 
attend), 


To  the  end  that  it  might  be  deter 
mined 

How  the  man  had  determined 
his  end! 

"  The  man  was  a  lawyer,  I  hear," 
Quoth  the  foreman  who  sat  on 

the  corse. 

*'  A    lawyer?     Alas!  "  said    an 
other, 

"  Undoubtedly     died     of     re 
morse!  " 

A  third  said,  "  He   knew  the   de 
ceased, 
An  attorney  well  versed  in  the 

laws. 

And  as  to  the  cause  of  his  death, 
'T  was  no  doubt  for  the  want  of 
a  cause." 

The  jury  decided  at  length, 
After    solemnly    weighing    the 

matter. 
That  the  lawyer  was   drown(7ed, 

because 

He  could  not  keep  his  head  above 
water ! 


LITTLE  JERRY,  THE  MILLER.* 

A   BALLAD. 

BENEATH  the  hill  you  may  see  the 

mill 

Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling 
stone ; 

*  Perhaps  it  may  add  a  trifle  to  the 
interest  of  this  ballad  to  know  that 
the  description,  both  of  the  man  and 
the  mill,  is  quite  true.  "  Little  Jer 
ry  11  —  a  diminutive  Frenchman  of  re 
markable  strength,  wit,  and  good-na 
ture  —  was  for  many  years  my  father's 
miller  in  Highgate,  Vermont.  His  sur 
name  was  written  "  Goodheart  "  in 
the  mill-books  ;  but  he  often  told  me 
that  our  English  translation  was  quite 
too  weak,  as  the  real  name  was  spelled 
'',  Fortboncaiur." 


HO W   CYRUS  LAID    THE   CABLE. 


2'J 


The  wheel  is  dripping  and  clatter 
ing  still, 

But  JERKY,  the  miller,  is  dead 
and  gone. 

Year  after  year,  early  and  late, 
Alike   in   summer    and    winter 

weather, 
He  pecked  the  stones  and  calked 

the  gate, 

And  mill  and   miller  grew  old 
together. 

"  Little  Jerry!  "  —  't  was  all  the 

same,  — 
They  loved  him  well  who  called 

him  so; 
And  whether  he  'd  ever  another 

name, 
Nobody  ever  seemed  to  know. 

'T  was,  "  Little  Jerry,  come  grind 

my  rye  " ; 
And,  "  Little  Jerry,  come  grind 

my  wheat " ; 
And  "  Little  Jerry  "  was  still  the 

cry, 

From  matron  bold  and  maiden 
sweet. 

'T  was  "  Little  Jerry  "  on   every 

tongue, 
And   so   the  simple    truth  was 

told; 
For  Jerry  \vas  little  when  he  was 

young, 

And  Jerry  was  little   when  he 
was  old. 

Hut  what  in  size  he  chanced  to  lack, 
That  Jerry  made   up  in   being 

strong ; 

I  've  seen  a  sack  upon  his  back 
As  thick  as  the  miller,  and  quite 
as  long. 

Always  busy,  and  ulways  merry, 
Always  doing  his  very  best, 


A  notable  wag  was  Little  Jerry, 
Who  uttered  well  his  standing 
jest. 

How  Jerry  lived  is  known  to  fame, 
But  how  he  died  there  's  none 

may  know ; 

One  autumn  day  the  rumor  came, 
'•  The  brook  and  Jerry  are  very 
low." 

And  then 't  was  whispered,  mourn 
fully, 
The  leech  had  come,  and  he  was 

dead ; 
And   all  the  neighbors  flocked  to 

see; 

"Poor  little   Jerry!"  was    all 
they  said. 

They  laid  him  in  his  earthy  bed,  — 
His  miller's  coat  his  only  shroud ; 

"  Dust  to  dust,"  the  parson  said, 
And  all  the  people  wept  aloud. 

For  he  hud  shunned  the  deadly  sin, 
And  not  a  grain  of  over-toll 

Had  ever  dropped  into  his  bin, 
To  weigh  upon  his  parting  soul. 

Beneath  the  hill  there  stands  the 

mill, 
Of  wasting  wood  and  crumbling 

stone ; 

The  wheel  is  dripping  and  clatter 
ing  still, 

But  JERRY,  the  miller,  is  dead 
and  gone. 


HOW  CYRUS  LAID  THE 
CABLK. 

A   BALLAD. 

COME,  listen  all  unto  my  song; 

It  is  no  silly  fable; 
'T  is  all  about  the  mighty  cord 

They  call  the  Atlantic  Cable. 


30 


WHAT  HAS  B ECO. Mi:    OF    THE  GODS. 


Bold  Cyrus  Field  he  said,  says  he, 

I  have  a  pretty  notion 
That  I  can  run  a  telegraph 

Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

Then  all  the  people  laughed,  and 
said, 

They  'd  like  to  see  him  do  it; 
He  might  get  half-seas-over,  but 

He  never  could  go  through  it; 

To  carry  out  his  foolish  plan 
He  never  would  be  able; 

He  might  as  well  go  hang  himself 
With  his  Atlantic  Cable. 

But  Cyrus  was  a  valiant  man, 

A  fellow  of  decision; 
And    heeded    not  their    mocking 
words, 

Their  laughter  and  derision. 

Twice  did  his  bravest  efforts  fail, 
And  yet  his  mind  was  stable; 

He  wa'  n't  the  man  to  break  his 

heart 
Because  he  broke  his  cable. 

"Once  more,  my  gallant  boys!  " 

he  cried; 
"  Tliree  limes!  —  you  know  the 

fable,  — 

(I  '11  make  it  thirty,"  muttered  he, 
"  But  1  will  lay  the  cable !") 

Once  more  they  tried,  —  hurrah  ! 

hurrah ! 

What  means  this  great  commo 
tion? 
The  Lord  be  praised !  the  cable  's 

laid 
Across  the  Atlantic  Ocean ! 

Loud  ring  the  bells,  —  for,  flashing 
through 

Six  hundred  leagues  of  water, 
Old  Mother  England's  benison 

Salutes  her  eldest  daughter! 


O'er  all  the  land  the  tidings  speed. 

And  soon,  in  every  nation, 
They  '11  hear  about  the  cable  with 

1'rofoundest  admiration : 

Now,    long    live    President    and 

Queen; 

And  long  live  gallant  Cyrus; 
And  may  his  courage,  faith,  and 

zeal 
With  emulation  fire  us; 

And  may  we  honor  evermore 
The  manly,  bold,  and  stable: 

And  tell  our  sons,  to  make  tln:i!i 

brave, 
How  Cyrus  laid  the  cable! 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  THE 
GODS. 

FULL  often  I  had  heard  it  said, 
As    something  quite    uncontro 

verted, 

"  The  gods  and  goddesses  are  dead, 

And  high  Olympus  is  deserted  "  : 

And  so,  while  thinking  of  the  gods, 

I  made,  one   night,  an  explora- 

|  tion, 

(In  fact  or  fancy,  —  where 's  the 

odds?) 
To  get  authentic  information. 

I  found  —  to  make  a  true  report, 

As  if  I  were  a  sworn  committee  — 
They  all  had  left  the  upper  court, 

And  settled  in  Manhattan  city; 
Where  now  they  live,  as  best  they 
may, 

Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neigh 
bors, 
And  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 

Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 

In  human  frames,  for  safe  clisgui.-e. 
They    come    and    go     through 
wooden  portals, 


WHAT  HAS   BECOME   OF   THE    GODS. 


31 


And  to  the  keen  Detective's  eyes 
Seem  nothing  more  than  common 

mortals; 
For  mortal-like  they  're  clad  and 

fed, 

And,  still  to  blind  the  sharp  in 
spector, 

Ent,  for  ambrosia,  baker's  bread, 
An  1     tipple  —  everything     but 
nectar. 

Ureat  Jove,  who  wore  the  kingly 

crown, 
And    used    to    make   Olympus 

rattle, 

As  if  the  sky  was  coming  down, 
Or  all  tha  Titans  were  in  bat 
tle, — 

Is  now  a  sorry  playhouse  wight, 
Content  to  make  the  groundlings 

wonder, 
And    earn    some    shillings    every 

night, 

By  coining  cheap  theatric  thun 
der. 

Apollo,  who  in  better  times 

Was   poet-laureate  of   th'   Ely- 

sians, 

And,  adding  medicine  to  rhymes, 
Was  chief  among  the  court  phy 
sicians, 
Now     cures     disease     of     every 

grade,  — 
L'tcitifi's     cares     and      Cupid's 

curses,  — 

And,  still  to  ply  his  double  trade, 
BepufTs    his    pills    in    doggerel 
verses ! 

Minerva,  famous  in  her  day 
For  wit  and  war,  —  though  often 

shocking 

The  gods  by  overmuch  display 
Of  what  they  called  her  azure 

stocking,  — 

Now  deals  in  books  of  ancient  kind 
(Where  Learning  soars  and  Fan 
cy  grovels), 


And,  to  indulge  her  warlike  mind, 
Writes  very  sanguinary  novels. 

And  Venus,  who  on  Ida's  seat 
In    myrtle-groves    her    charms 

paraded, 

Displays  her  beauty  in  the  street. 
And  seems,  indeed,  a  little  faded ; 
She  's  dealing  in  the  clotiiing-line 
(If  at  her  word  you  choose  to 

take  her), 
In  Something  Square  you  read  the 

sign:  — 

"  Miss    CYTHEREA,    MANTUA- 
MAKEK." 

Mars  figures  still  as  god  of  war, 
But    not   with  spear    and    iron 

hanger, 

Erect  upon  the  ponderous  car 
That  rolled   along  with  fearful 

clangor; 

Ah!  no;  of  sword  and  spear  bereft, 
He    stands    beside    nis    bottle- 
holder, 
And  plumps  his  right,  and  plants 

his  left, 

And   strikes   directly  from   the 
shoulder. 

And  Bacchus,  reared  among  the 

vines 
That    flourished    in    the    fields 

Elvsian, 

And  ruddy  with  the  rarest  wines 
That  ever  flashed  upon  the  vis 
ion,  — 

A  licensed  liquor-dealer  now, 
Sits  pale   and  thin  from  over 
dosing 
With  whisky,    made  —  the  deuce 

knows  how, 
And  brandy  of  his  own  compos- 

And    cunning    Mercury,  —  what 

d'  ye  think 

Is  now  the  nimble  rogue's  con 
dition  V 


32 


THE    COLD-WATER  MAN. 


Of  course  't  was  but  a  step,  to 

sink 

From  Peter  Funk  to  politician; 
Though  now  he  neither  steals  nor 

robs, 

But  just  secures  a  friend's  elec 
tion, 

And  lives  and  thrives  on  little  jobs 
Connected   with   the   Street  In 
spection. 

Thus  all  the  gods,  in  deep  disguise, 

Go  in  and  out  of  wooden  portals, 
And,  to  the  sharpest  human  eyes, 

Seem   nothing  more  than  com 
mon  mortals. 
And  so  they  live,  as  best  they  may, 

Quite  unsuspected  of  their  neigh 
bors, 
And,  in  a  humbler  sort  of  way, 

Repeat  their  old  Olympic  labors. 


THE  COLD-WATER  MAN. 

A   BALLAD. 

IT  was  an  honest  fisherman, 
I  knew  him  passing  well,  — 

And  he  lived  by  a  little  pond, 
Within  a  little  dell. 

A  grave  and  quiet  man  was  he, 
Who  loved  his  hook  and  rod,  — 

So  even  ran  his  line  of  life, 
His  neighbors  thought  it  odd. 

For  science  and  for  books,  he  said 
He  never  had  a  wish,  — 

No  school  to  him  was  worth  a  fig, 
Except  a  school  of  fish. 

He  ne'er  aspired  to  rank  or  wealth, 
Nor  cared  about  a  name, — 

For  though  much  famed  for  fish 

was  he, 
He  never  fished  for  fame. 


Let    others    bend  their  neck?   at 

sight 

Of  Fashion's  gilded  wheels, 
He  ne'er  had   learned  the   art   .'o 

"bob" 
For  anything  but  eels. 

A  cunning  fisherman  was  he, 
His  angles  all  were  right ; 

The  smallest  nibble  at  his  bait 
Was  sure  to  prove  "  a  bite  "  ! 

All  day  this  fisherman  would  sit 

Upon  an  ancient  log, 
And  gaze  into  the  water,  like 

Some  sedentary  frog; 

With  all  the  seeming  innocence, 
And  that  unconscious  look, 

That  other  people  often  wear 
When  they  intend  to  "  hook  "  ! 

To  charm  the  fish  he  never  spoke,  — 
Although  his  voice  was  fine, 

He  found  the  most  convenient  way 
Was  just  to  drop  a  line. 

And  many  a  gudgeon  of  the  pond, 
If  they  could  speak  to-day, 

Would  own,  with  grief,  this  angler 

had 
A  mighty  taking  way. 

Alas !  one  day  this  fisherman 
Had  taken  too  much  grog, 

And  being  but  a  landsman,  too, 
He  could  n't  keep  the  log. 

'T  was  all  in  vain  with  might  and 

main 

He  strove  to  reach  the  shore ; 
Down  —  down  he  went,  to  feed  the 

fish 
He  'd  baited  oft  before. 

The  jury  gave  their  verdict  that 
'T  was  nothing  else  but  gin 

Had  caused  the  fisherman  to  be 
So  sadly  taken  in; 


COMIC  MISERIES. 


33 


Though   one   stood    out    upon    a 
whim, 

And  said  the  angler's  slaughter, 
To  l)e  exact  about  the  fact, 
Was,  clearly,  g'm-und-water  ! 

The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale, 
To  all  is  plain  and  clear,  — 

That  drinking  habits  bring  a  man 
Too  often  to  his  bier; 

And  he  who  scorns  to  "  take  the 
pledge," 

And  keep  the  promise  fast, 
Mav  be,  in  spite  of  fate,  a  stiff 

Cold-water  man  at  last  ! 


COMIC  MISERIES. 


MY  dear  young  friend,  whose  shin 
ing  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't    think    yourself "  a    happy 
dog," 

For  nil  your  merry  ways; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It 's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funnv  man! 


You  're  at  an  evening  party,  with 

A  group  of  pleasant  folks,  — 
Von  veil  tun.1  fiuietly  to  crack 

The  least  of  little  jokes: 
A  lady  doesn't  catch  the  point, 

And  begs  you  to  explain,  — 
Alas  for  one  who  drops  a  jest 

And  takes  it  up  again  ! 


You  're  talking  deep  philosophy 
With  very  special  force, 

To  edify  a  clergyman 
With  suitable  discourse: 


You  think  you '  ve  got  him,  —  when 

he  calls 

A  friend  across  the  way, 
And  begs  you'll   say  that  funny 

thing 
You  said  the  other  day ! 


You  drop  a  pretty  jeu-de-mot 

Into  a  neighbor's  ears, 
Who  likes  to  give  you  credit  for 

The  clever  thing  he  hears, 
And  so  he  hawks  your  jest  about, 

The  old,  authentic  one, 
Just  breaking  off  the  point  of  it, 

And  leaving  out  the  pun ! 


By  sudden  change  in  politics, 

Or  sadder  change  in  I'olly, 
You  lose  your  love,  or  loaves,  and 
fall 

A  prey  to  melancholy, 
While  everybody  marvels  why 

Your  mirth  is  under  ban, 
They   think   your  very    grief "  a 
joke," 

You' 're  such  a  funny  man! 

VI. 

You  follow  up  a  stylish  card 

That  bids  you  come  and  dine, 
And  bring  along  your  freshest  wit 

(To  pay  for  musty  wine); 
You  're  looking  very  dismal,  when 

My  lady  bounces  in, 
And  wonders  what  you're  think 
ing  of, 

And  why  you  don't  begin! 


You  're  telling  to  a  knot  of  friends 

A  fancy-tale  of  woes 
That  cloud  your  matrimonial  sky, 

And  banish  all  repose,  — 
A  solemn  lady  overhears 

The  story  of  your  strife. 


34 


A    CONNUBIAL  ECLOGUE. 


And  tells   the  town  the   pleasant 

news :  — 
You  quarrel  with  your  wife ! 

VIII. 

My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shin 
ing  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  ablaze, 
Don't   think    yourself  "  a    happy 
dog," 

For  nil  your  merry  ways; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It  "s  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man ! 


A   CONNUBIAL   ECLOGUE. 

"  Arcades  am  bo, 

lit  cantare  pares  et  respondere  parati." 
VIRGIL 

HE. 

MUCH  lately  have  I  thought,  my 

darling  wife, 
Some  simple  rules  might  make  our 

wedded  life 
As  pleasant  alwavs  as  a  morn  in 

May; 
I  merely   name   it,  —  what    does 

Molly  say  ? 

SHE. 

Agreed:  your  plan  I  heartily  ap 
prove  ; 

Rules  would  be  nice,  — but  who 
shall  make  them,  love? 

Nay,  do  not  speak! — let  this  the 
bargain  be, 

One  shall  be  made  by  you,  and  one 
by  me, 

Till  all  are  done  — 


—  Your  plan  is  surely  fair, 
In   such   a   work   't  is   fitting   we 
should  share ; 


And  now  —  although  it  matters  not 
a  pin  — 

If  you  have  no  objection,  I'll  be 
gin, 

SHE. 

Proceed !  In  making  laws  I  'm 
little  versed ; 

And  as  to  words,  I  do  not  mind  the 
first ; 

I  only  claim  —  and  hold  the  treas 
ure  fast  — 

My  sex's  sacred  privilege,  the  last ! 


With  all  my  heart.     Well,  dearest, 

to  begin:  — 
When  by  our  cheerful  hearth  our 

friends  drop  in, 
And  I  am  talking  in  my  brilliant 

style 
(The  rest  with  rapture  listening  the 

while) 
About  the  war, — or  anything,  in 

short, 
That  you  're  aware  is  my  especial 


forte,  - 
av  don't 


Pray  don't  get  up  a  circle  of  your 
own, 

And  talk  of — bonnets,  in  an  un 
dertone  ! 

SHE. 

That's  Number  One;  I  '11  mind  it 

well,  if  you 
Will   do  as   much,    my   dear,   by 

Number  Two: 

When  we  attend  a  party  or  a  ball, 
Don't  leave  vour  Molly  standing  bv 

the  wall, 
The  helpless  victim  of  the  dreariest 

bore 

That  ever  walked  upon  a  parlor- 
floor, 
While    you  —  oblivious    of    your 

spouse's  doom  — 
Flirt  with  the  girls,  —  the  gayect 

in  the  room! 


K  O.ME  PEN  ClL-1'1  C  T URI-:S. 


When  I  (although  the  busiest  man 

alive) 
Have  snatched  an  hour  to  take  a 

pleasant  drive, 
And  say,  "  Remember,  at  precisely 

four 
You'll  find  the  carriage  ready  at 

the  door," 
Don't   keep   me   waiting   half  an 

hour  or  so, 
And    then    declare,  "  The    clock 

must  be  too  slow !  " 


When  you  (such  things  have  hap 
pened  now  and  then) 

Go  to  the  Club  with,  4i  I  '11  be  back 
at  ten," 

And  stay  till  two  o'clock,  you 
need  n't  say, 

"  I  really  was  die  first  to  come 
away; 

'T  is  very  strange  how  swift  the 
time  has  passed  : 

I  'm  sure,  my  dear,  the  clock  must 
be  too  font  /" 


There  —  that  will  do;    what  else 

remains  to  say 
We    may    consider    at    a    future 

day : 
I  'in  getting  sleepy  —  and  —  if  you 

have  done  — 

SHE. 

sot  1 !  — this  making  rules  is  pre 
cious  fun; 

Now  here  's  another  :  —  When  you 
paint  to  me 

"  That  charming  woman  "  you  are 
sure  to  see, 

I'on't —  when  you  praise  the  vir 
tues  she  has  got  — 

Name  only  those  you  think  your 
wife  has  not! 


And  here  's  a  rule  I  hope  you  won't 
forget, 

The  most  important  I  have  men 
tioned  yet,  — 

Pray  mind  it  well:  —  Whenever 
you  incline 

To  bring  your  queer  companions 
home  to  dine, 

Suppose,  my  dear,  —  Good  Gra 
cious!  he  's  asleep! 

Ah !  well,  —  't  is  lucky  good  ad 
vice  will  keep; 

And  he  shall  have  it,  or,  upon  my 
life, 

I  've  not  the  proper  spirit  of  a  wife ! 


SCttfE   PENCIL-PICTURES  : 

TAKEN   AT   SARATOGA. 
I. 

YOUR    novel-writers    make    their 

ladies  tall ; 
I   mean   their   heroines;    as   if, 

indeed, 

It  were  a  fatal  failing  to  be  small. 
In  this,  I  own,  we  are  not  well 

agreed,  — 
I   like   a   little    woman,    if  she's 

pretty, 
Modest   and   clever,   sensible   and 

witty. 

n. 

And  such  is  she  who  sits  beside 

me;  fair 
As  her  deportment;  mine  is  not 

the  pen 
To  paint  the  glory  of  her  Saxon 

hair, 
And   eyes   of   heavenly  azure! 

There  are  men 
Who  doat  on  raven  tresses,  and  are 

fond 

Of  dark  complexions,  —  I  adore  a 
blonde  ! 


36 


SOME  PENCIL-PICTURES. 


HI. 

There   sits   a   woman   of  another 

type ; 
Superb  in  figure  and  of  stately 

size; 
An  Amazonian  beauty  round  and 

ripe 
As   Cytherea,  —  with    delicious 

eyes 
That  laugh   or    languish    with   a 

shifting  hue 
Somewhat  between  a  hazel  and  a 

blue. 

IV. 

Across    the    room  —  to  please  a 

daintier  taste  — 

A  slender  damsel  flits  with  fairy 
tread ; 

A  lover's  hand  might  span  her  lit 
tle  waist. 

If  so  inclined,  — that  is,  if  they 
were  wed. 

Some  youths  admire  those  fragile 
forms,  I  've  heard ; 

I  never  saw  the  man,  upon  my 
word ! 


But  styles  of  person,  though  they 

please  me  more, 
(As  Nature's  work)  excite  my 

wonder  less 
Than  all  my  curious  vision  may 

explore 
In  moods  and  manners,  equipage 

and  dress; 
The  last  alone  were  theme  enough, 

indeed, 
For  more  than  I  could  write,  or  you 

would  read. 


Swift  satirized  mankind  with  little 

ruth, 

And  womankind  as  well;  but  we 
must  own 


His  words  of  censure  oft  are  very ' 

truth, — 
For  instance,  where  the  satirist 

has  shown 
How  —  thankless     for    the     gifts 

which  they  have  got  — 
All  strive  to  show  the  talents  they 

—  have  not! 


Thus  (it  is  written)  Frederick  the 

Great 
Cared   little  for  the  battles  he 

had  fought, 

But  listened  eagerly  and  all-elate 
To  hear   a  courtier   praise   the 

style  and  thought 
That  graced  his  Sonnets;  though, 

in  fact,  his  verse 
(I  've  tried  to  read  it)  could  n't  \vel', 

be  worse! 

VIII. 

The  like  absurd  ambition  you  ma- 

note 
In    fashionable   women.      Lool- 

you  there ! 
Observe  an  arm  which  all  (but  she{ 

must  vote 
Extremely   ugly;  so  she  keepv 

it  bare 
(Lest  so  much  beauty  should  es^ 

cape  the  light) 
From  wrist  to  shoulder,  morning 

noon,  and  night ! 

IX. 

Observe  again  (the  girl  who  standu 

alone) 

How   Pride  reveals   what  Pru 
dence  would  suppress; 

A    mere    anatomy   of   skin -ana- 
bone,  — 

She  wears,  perversely,  a  drcollctfr 
dress ! 

Those  tawny  angles  seek  no  friend 
ly  screen, 

But  court  tho  (iay,  and  glory  to  be 


THE  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 


37 


0  Robert  Burns!  i/  such  a  thing 

might  be, 
That  all  by  ignorance  or  folly 

blind,  * 
For  once  should  "see  themselves 

as  others  see, 
(As  thou  didst  prav  for  hapless 

human  kind.) 
What  startled  crowds  would  madly 

rush  to  hide 
The  dearest  objects  of  their  fondest 

pride ! 


BOYS. 

u  THE  proper  study  of  mn.Mk.ind  is 

man,"  — 
The  most  perplexing  one  nodoub*', 

is  woman, 
The  subtlest  study  tint  the  mind 

can  scan, 
Of  all  deep  problems,  hei'veHy  or 

human ! 

But  of  all  studies  in  the  round  of 
learning, 

From  nature's  marvels  down  to 
human  toys, 

To  minds  well  fitted  for  acute  dis 
cerning, 

The  very  queerest  one  is  that  of 
boys! 

If  to  ask  questions  that  would  puz 
zle  I'lato, 

And  all  the  schoolmen  of  the  Mid 
dle  Age,  — 

If  to  make  precepts  worthy  of  old 
Cato, 

Be  deemed  philosophy,  your  boy 's 
a  sage ! 

If   the    possession   of   a   teeming 

fancy, 
(Although,  forsooth,   the  younkcr 

does  n't  know  it,) 


Which  he  can  use  in  rarest  necro 
mancy, 

Be  thought  poetical,  your  boy 's  a 
poet ! 

If  a  strong  will  and  most  coura 
geous  bearing, 

If  to  be  cruel  as  the  Roman  Nero; 

If  all  that  's  chivalrous,  and  all 
that 's  daring, 

Can  make  a  hero,  then  the  boy  's 
a  hero ! 

But  changing  soon  with  his  in 
creasing  stature. 

The  boy  is  lost  in  manhood's  riper 
age, 

And  with  him  goes  his  former 
triple  nature,  — 

No  longer  Poet,  Hero,  now,  nor 
Sage! 


THK  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 

"  It  is  ascertained  by  inspection  of 
Hie  registers  of  many  countries,  that 
the  uniform  proportion  of  male  to 
fcuitle  births  is  as  21  to  20 :  accord 
ingly,  in  respect  to  marriage,  every  21st 
man  is  naturally  superfluous."  — TREA 
TISE  ON  POPULATION. 

I  LONG  have  been  puzzled  to  guess, 

And  so  I  have  frequently  said, 
What  the  reason  coulil  really  be 

That  I  never  have  happened  to 

wed ; 
But  now  it  is  perfectly  clear, 

I  am  under  a  natural  ban; 
The  girls  are  already  assigned,  — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

Those  clever  statistical  chaps 
Declare  the  numerical  run 

Of  women  and  men  in  the  world, 
Is  Twenty  to  Twenty-and-one; 

And  hence  in  the  pairing,  you  see, 
Since  wooing  and  wedding  be» 


38 


TOUJOVRS  LES  FEMMES. 


For  every  connubial  score, 
They  've  got  a  superfluous  man ! 

By  twenties  and  twenties  they  go, 

And  giddily  rush  to  their  fate, 
For  none  of  the  number,  of  course, 

Can  fail  of  a  conjugal  mate; 
But   while    they   are    yielding   in 
scores 

To  Nature's  inflexible  plan, 
There  's  never  a  woman  for  me,  — 

For  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

It  is  n't  that  I  am  a  churl, 

To  solitude  over-inclined ; 
It  is  n't  that  I  am  at  fault 

In  morals  or  manners  or  mind ; 
Then  vvhat  is  the  reason,  you  ask, 

I  'm  still  with  the  bachelor-clan  ? 
I  merely  was  numbered  amiss,  — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man ! 

It  isn't  that  I  am  in  want 

Of  personal  beauty  or  grace, 
For  many  a  man  with  a  wife 

Is  uglier  far  in  the  face; 
Indeed,  among  elegant  men 

I  fancy  myself  in  the  van; 
But  what  is  the  value  of  that, 

When  I  'm  a  superfluous  man '? 

Although  I  am  fond  of  the  girls, 

For  aught  I  could  ever  discern 
The  tender  emotion  I  feel 

Is  one  that  they  never  return; 
'T  is  idle  to  quarrel  with  fate. 

For,  struggle  as  hard  as  I  can, 
They  're     mated     already,     you 
know,  — 

And  I  'm  a  superfluous  man! 

No  wonder  I  grumble  at  times, 

With     women    so    pretty    and 

plenty, 
To  know  that  I  never  was  born 

To  figure  as  one  of  the  Twenty; 
But  yet,  when  the  average  lot 

With  critical  vision  I  scan, 
I  think  it  may  be  for  the  best 

That  I  'in  a  superfluous  man ! 


TOUJOURS  LES  FEMMES. 

I  THINK  it  was  a  Persian  kuig 

Who  used   to    say,    that    ever 
more 
In  human  life  each  evil  thing 

Comes  of  the  sex  that  men  adore; 
In  brief,  that  nothing  e'er  befell 

To  harm  or  grieve  our  hapless 

race, 
But,  if  you  probe  the  matter  well, 

You  '11  find  a  woman  in  the  case ! 

And  then  the  curious  tale  is  told 

How,  when  upon  a  certain  night 

A  climbing  youngster  lost  his  hold, 

And,    falling    from    a    ladder's 

height, 
Was  found,   alas!    next  morning 

dead, 

His  Majesty,  with  solemn  face, 
As  was  his  wont,  demurely  said, 
"  Pray,  who  's  the  woman  in  the 
case?  " 

And  how  a  lady  of  his  court, 
Who   deemed   the   royal    whim 

absurd, 

Rebuked  him,  while  she  made  re 
port 

Of  the  mischance  that  late  oc 
curred; 

Whereat  the  king  replied  in  glee, 
"I  've  heard  the  story,  please 

your  Grace, 

And  all  the  witnesses  agree 
There  was  a  woman  in  the  case ! 

"  The  truth,  your  Ladyship,  is  this 

(Nor  is  it  marvellous  at  all), 
The  chap  was  climbing  for  a  kiss, 

And  got,  instead,  a  fatal  fall. 
Whene'er  a  man  —  as  I  have  said  — 

Falls    from   a  ladder,   or    from 

grace, 

Or  breaks  his  faith,  or  breaks  his 
head, 

There  is  a  woman  in  the  case !  " 


THE 


For  such  a  churlish,  carping  creed 

As  that  his  Majesty  professed, 
I  hold  him  of  unkingly  breed,  — 

Unless,  in  sooth,  he  spoke  in  jest. 
To  me,  few  things  have  come  to 
pass 

Of  good  event,  but  lean  trace,  — 
Thanks  to  the  matron  or  the  lass,  — 

Somewhere,    a    woman   in    the 
case. 

Yet    once,    while    gayly   strolling 

w  I  ic re 

A  va«t  Museum  still  displays 
Its  varied  wealth  of  strange  and 

rare, 
To    charm,    or    to     repel,    the 

gazf,  — 
I  —  to  a  lady  (who  denied 

The   creed   by  laughing  in  my 

face)  — 
Took  up,  for  once,  the  Persian's 

side 
About  a  woman  in  the  case. 

Discoursing  thus,  we  came  upon 
A    grim     Egyptian    mummy  — 

dead 

Some  centuries  since.     'T  is  Pha 
raoh's  son, 
Perhaps  ;    who    knows?  "    the 

Ittdy  said. 

No !  on  the  black  sarcophagus 
A  female    name   I    stooped    to 

trace. 
Toiijours  les  femmes  !    'T  is  ever 

thus,  — 
There  was  a  woman  in  the  case .' 


GIRLHOOD. 

WITH  rosy   cheeks,    and    merry- 
dancing  curls. 

And  eyes  offender  light, 
0,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 

And  goodly  to  the  sight ! 


Here  comes  a  group  to  seek  my 

lonely  bower, 
Ere  waning  Autumn  dies: 
How  like  the  dew-drops  on  a  droop 
ing  flower, 
Are  smiles  from  gentle  eyes ! 

What  beaming  gladness  lights  each 

fairy  face 

The  while  the  elves  advance, 
Now  speeding  swiftly  in  a  gleesome 

race, 
Now  whirling  in  a  dance ! 

What   heavenly  pleasure  o'er  the 

spirit  rolls, 

When  all  the  air  along 
Floats  the  sweet  music  of  untaintea 

souls, 
In  bright,  unsullied  song! 

The  sacred  nymphs  that  guard  this 

sylvan  ground 

May  sport  unseen  with  these, 
And  joy  to  hear  their  ringing  laugh 

resound 
Among  the  clustering  trees ! 

With  rosy  cheeks,  and  merry-dan 
cing  curls, 

And  eyes  of  tender  light, 
0,  very  beautiful  are  little  girls, 

And  goodly  to  the  sight! 


THE  COCKNEY. 

IT  was  in  my  foreign  travel, 

At  a  famous  Flemish  inn, 
That  I  met  a  stoutish  person 

With  a  very  ruddy  skin; 
And  his  hair  was  something  sandy 

And  was  done  in  knotty  curls, 
And  was  parted  in  the  middle, 

In  rhe  manner  of  a  girl's. 

He  was  clad  in  checkered  trousers 
And  his  coat  was  of  a  sort 


40 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


To  suggest  a  scanty  pattern, 
It  was  bobbed  so  very  short; 

And  his  cap  was  very  little, 
Such  as  soldiers  often  use; 

And  he  wore  a  pair  of  gaiters, 
And  extremely  heavy  shoes. 

I  addressed  the  man  in  English, 

And  he  answered  in  the  same, 
Though  he  spoke  it  in  a  fashion 

That  I  thought  a  little  lame; 
For  the  aspirate  was  missing 

Where   the   letter  should   have 

been, 
But  where'er  it  was  n't  wanted, 

He  was  sure  to  put  it  in ! 

When  I  spoke  with  admiration 

Of  St.  Peter's  mighty  dome, 
He  remarked:  '"T  is  really  noth 
ing 

To  the  sights  we  'avc  at  'ome !  " 
And  declared  upon  his  honor,  — 

Though,  of  course,  't  was  very 

queer,  — 
That  he  doubted  if  the  Romans 

'Ad  the  hart  of  making  beer! 

When  I  named  the  Colosseum, 

He  observed,  ''  'T  is  very  fair; 
I  mean,  ye  know,  it  would  be, 

If  they  'd  put  it  in  repair; 
But  what  progress   or  /(improve 
ment 

Can  those  curst  7/italians  'ope 
While  they  're  Sunder  the  dominion 

Of  that  blasted  muff,  the  Pope?  " 

Then  we  talked  of  other  countries, 

And  he  said  that  he  had  heard 
That  7/americans  spoke  7/inglish, 

But  he  deemed  it  quite  Aabsurd ; 
Yet  he  felt  the  deepest  /(interest 

In  the  missionarv  work, 
And  would  like  to  know  if  Georgia 

Was  in  Boston  or  New  York ! 

When  I  left  the  man-in-gaiters, 
He  was  grumbling,  o'er  his  gin, 


At  the  charges  of  the  hostess 
Of  that  famous  Flemish  itu; 

And  he  looked  a  very  Briton, 
(So,  methinks,  I  see  him  still) 

As  he  pocketed  the  candle 
That  was  mentioned  in  the  bil'. ! 


CAPTAIN     JOXKS'S      MISAD 
VENTURE. 


CAPTAIN  JONES  was  five-feet  ten. 
(The  height  of  CHESTEKFIKI.D'S 

gentlemen,) 
With  a  manlv  breadth  of  shoul 

der; 
And   Captain  JONES  was  straight 

and  trim. 
With  nothing  about  him  anywise 

slim, 

And  had  for  a  leg  as  perfect  a  limb 
As  ever  astonished  beholder! 


With  a  calf  of  such  a  notable  size 
'T  would   surely  have   taken   the 

highest  prize 

At  any  fair  Fair  in  creation; 
'T  was  just  the  leg  for  a  prince  to 

sport 
Who  wished  to  stand  at  a  Roval 

Court, 
At   the   head  of    Foreign   Leg 

ation  ! 


And  Captain  JONES  had  an  elegant 

foot, 
'T  was  just  the  thing  for  his  patent 

boot, 

And  could  so  prettily  shove  it, 
'T  was  a  genuine  pleasure  to  see  it 

repeat 
In  the  public  walks  the  Miioniau 

feat 
Of  bearing  the  calf  above  it! 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


41 


But  the  Cuptnin'*  prominent  per 
sonal  charm 

Was  neither  his  foot,  nor  leg,  nor 

arm, 
Nor  his  very  distingue  air: 

Nor  was  it,  although  you  're  think 
ing  upon  't, 

The  front  of  his  head,  but  his  head 

and  front 
Of  beautiful  coal-black  hair! 


So  verv  brifht  was  the  gloss  they 
'had, 

'T  would  have  made  a  rival  raving 

mad 
To  look  at  his  raven  curls; 

Wherever  he  went,  the  Captain's 
hair 

\Vas  certain  to  fix  the  public  stare, 

And  the  constant  cry  was,  "  I  de 
clare!  " 

And  "  Did  you  ever!  "  and  "Just 

look  there !  " 
Among  the  dazzled  girls. 


Now  Captain  JONES  was  a  master 

bold 
Of  a  merchant-ship  some   dozen 

years  old, 
And  every  name  could  have  easily 

told, 
(And  never  confound  the  "hull" 

and  the  "  hold," 
Throughout  her  inventory; 
And   he  had  travelled  in  'foreign 

parts, 
And  learned  a  number  of  foreign 

arts. 
And  played  the  deuce  with  foreign 

hearts, 
As  the  Captain  told  the  story. 

VII. 

He    bad    learned    to  chatter   the 
French  and  Spanish, 


To  splutter  the  Dutch,  and  mutter 

the  Danish, 

In  a  way  that  sounded  oracu 
lar; 

Had    gabbled  among   the    Portu 
guese  ; 

And  caught  the  Tartar,  or,  rather, 
a  piece 

Of  "broken   China,"    it   wasn't 

Chinese, 

Any  more  than  his  own  vernac  - 
ular! 

VIII. 

How  Captain  JONES  was  wont  to 
shine 

In  the  line  of  ships!  (not  Ships  of 
the  Line,) 

How  he  'd  brag  of  the  water  over 

his  wine, 
And  of  woman  over  the  water! 

And  then,  if  you  credit  the  Cap 
tain's  phrase, 

He  was  more  expert  in  such  queer 
ways 

As  "doubling  capes"  and  "  put- 

ting  in  stays," 
Than  any  milliner's  daughter! 

IX. 

Now  the  Captain  kept  in  constant 

pay 

A  single  Mate,  as  a  Captain  may 

(In  a  nautical,  not  in  a  naughty 

way, 

As  "  mates  "  are  sometimes  car 
ried); 

But  to  hear  him  prose  of  the  squalls 
that  arose 

In  the  dead  of  the  night  to  break 
his  repose, 

Of  white-caps   and   cradles,    and 
such  things  as  those, 

And  of  breezes  that  ended  in  reg 
ular  blows, 

You'd  have  sworn  the  Captain 
was  married ! 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


The   Captain's  morals    were  fair 
enough, 

Though   a   sailor's  life   is    rather 

rough, 
By  dint  of  the  ocean's  force; 

And  that  one  who  makes  so  many, 
in  ships, 

Should  make,  upon   shore,  occa 
sional  "  trips," 
Seems  quite  a  matter  of  course. 

XI. 

And  Captain  JONES  was  stiff  as  a 

post 
To  the  vulgar  fry,  but  among  the 

most 
Genteel  and   polished,   ruled  the 

roast, 
As    no    professional    cook    could 

boast 

That  ever  you  set  your  eye  on ; 
Indeed,  't  was  enough  to  make  him 

vain, 
For  the  pretty  and  proud  confessed 

his  reign. 
And  Captain  JONES,  in  manners 

and  mane, 
Was  deemed  a  genuine  lion. 


And  the  Captain  revelled  earlv  and 

late, 
At  the  balls  and  routs  of  the  rich 

and  great, 
And  seemed   the  veriest  child  of 

fetes, 
Though    merely    a    minion    of 

pleasure; 
And  he  laughed  with  the  girls  in 

merry  sport, 
And  paid  the  mammas  the  civilest 

court, 
And  drank  their  wine,  whatever 

the  sort, 
By   the    nautical    rule    of  "  Any 

port  — ' ' 
You  may  add  the  rest  at  leisure. 


XIII. 

Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  was  a  dashing 
girl 

As   ever  revolved   in  the   waltz's 
whirl, 

Or  twinkled  a  foot  in  the  polka's 

twirl, 
By  the  glare  of  spermaceti; 

And  SUSAN'S  form  was  trim  and 

slight, 

j    And  her  beautiful  skin,  as  if  in 
spite 

Of  her  clingy  name,  was  exceed 
ingly  white, 

And  her  azure  eyes  were  "spark 
ling  and  bright," 
And  so  was  her  favorite  ditty- 

XIV. 

And  SUSAN  BROWN  had  a  score  of 

names, 
Like    the    very    voluminous    Mr. 

JAMES 
(Who  got  at  the  Font  his  strongest 

claims 

To  be  reckoned  a  Man  of  Let 
ters); 
But  thinking  the  task  will  hardly 

please 
Scholars  who've  taken  the  higher 

degrees, 

To  be  set  repeating  their  A,  B,  C's, 
I  choose  to  reject  such  fetters  as 

these, 
Though  merely  Nominal  fetters. 

xv. 

The  patronymical  name  of  the  maid 
Was  so  completely  overlaid 

With  a  long  prsenominal  cover, 
That    if   each    additional    proper 

noun 
Was  laid  with  additional  emphasis 

down, 
Miss  SUSAN  was  done  uncommon./ 

BROWN, 
The  moment  her  cbrist'ning  W*s 

over ! 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S  MISADVENTURE. 


43 


XVI. 

And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  modern 
romance, 

In  the    Mode*    of   MURRAY   and 
Modes  of  France, 

And  had  learned  to  sing  and  learned 

to  dunce, 
In  a  style  decidedly  pretty; 

And  SUSAN  was  versed  in  classical 
lore, 

In  the  works  of  HORACE,  and  sev 
eral  more 

Whose  opera  now  would  be  voted 

a  bore 
By  the  lovers  of  DONIZETTI. 

XVII. 

And  SUSAN  was  rich.     Her  prov 
ident  sire 

Had   piled  the  dollars  up  higher 

mid  higher. 
By  dint  of  his  personal  labors, 

Till' he  reckoned  at  last  a  sufficient 
amount 

To  be  counted,  himself,  a  man  of 

account 
Among  his  affluent  neighbors. 

XVIII. 

By  force  of  careful  culture  alone. 
Old  BROWN'S  estate  had  rapidly 

grown 

A  plum  for  his  only  daughter; 
And,  after  all  the  fanciful  dreams 
Of  golden    fountains   and   golden 

streams, 

The  sweat  of  patient  labor  seems 
The  true  Pactolian  water. 

XIX. 

And  while  your  theorist  worries 

his  mind 
In    hopes    the    magical    stone   to 

find, 

By  some  alchemical  gammon, 
practical     people,     by     regular 

knocks, 


Are  filling  their  "  pockets  full  of 

rocks  " 

From   the  golden  mountain  of 
Mammon ! 


With  charms  like  these,  you  may 

well  suppose 
Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  had  plenty  of 

beaux, 

Breathing  nothing  but  passion; 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  to 

gain, 
And  twenty  sought  her  hand  in 

vain, 
Were   "cut,"  and  didn't  "come 

again," 
In  the"  Ordinary  fashion. 

XXI. 

Captain  JONES,   by  the  common 

voice. 
At  length  was  voted  the  man  of  her 

choice, 

And  she  his  favorite  fair; 
It   was  n't    the    Captain's    manly 

face, 

His  native  sense,  nor  foreign  grace, 
That  took  her  heart  from  its  proper 

place 

And  put  it  into  a  tenderer  case, 
But    his    beautiful    coal-black 

hair! 

XXII. 

ffow  it  is,  why  it  is,  none  can  tell, 
But  all  philosophers  know  full  well, 

Though  puzzled  about  the   ac 
tion, 

That  of  all  the  forces  under  the  sun 
You  can  hardly  find  a  stronger  one 

Than  capillary  attraction. 

XXIII. 

The  locks  of  canals  are  strong  as 
rocks ; 

And  wedlock  is  strong  as  a  bank 
er's  box ; 


44 


CAPTAIN  JONES'S   MISADVENTURE. 


And  there  's  strength  in  the  locks 

a  Cockney  cocks 
At  innocent  birds,  to  give  himself 

knocks; 
In  the  locks  of  safes,  and  those 

safety-locks 

They  calf  the  Permutation ; 
But  of  all  the  locks  that  ever  were 

made 
In  Nature's  shops,  or  the  shops  of 

trade, 

The  subtlest  combination 
Of  beauty  and  strength  is  found  in 

those 
Which  grace  the  heads  of  belles 

and  beaux 
In  every  civilized  nation! 


The  gossips  whispered  it  through 
the  town, 

That  Captain  JONES  loved  SUSAN 

BROWN  ; 

But,  speaking  with  due    preci 
sion, 

The  gossips'  tattle  was  out  of  joint, 

For  the   lady's  "  blunt  "  was    the 

only  point 
That  dazzled  the  lover's  vision  ! 


And  the   Captain  begged,  in   his 
smoothest  tones, 

Miss  SUSAN  BROWN  to  be  Mistress 
JONES,  — 

Flesh  of  his  flesh  and  bone  of  his 

bones, 

Till  death  the  union  should  sev 
er; 

For  these  are  the  words  employed, 
of  course, 

Though  Death  i«   cheated,  some 
times,  by  Divorce, 

A  fact  which  gives  an    equivocal 

force 

To  that  beautiful  phrase,  "  for 
ever!  " 


XXVI. 

And  SUSAN  sighed  the  conven 
tional  "Nay  " 

In  such  a  bewitching,  affirmative 
way, 

The  Cnptain  perceived  'twas  the 

feminine  "  Ay," 
And  sealed  it  in   such  commo 
tion, 

That  no  "  lip-service  "  that  ever 
was  paid 

To  the  ear  of  a  god,  or  the  cheek 

of  a  maid, 
Looked  more  like  real  devotion  ! 

XXVII. 

And    SUSAN'S   Mamma  made   an 

elegimtyi^e. 
And  exhibited  all  the  family  plate, 

In  honor  of  SUSAN'S  lover; 
For  now   't  was   settled,    another 

trip 

Over  the  sea  in  his  merchant-ship, 
And  his  bachelor-ship  was  over. 

XXVIII. 

There  was  an  Alderman,  well  to  do, 
Who   was   fond  of  talking  about 

certu, 
And  had,  besides,  the  genuine  gout, 

If  one  might  credit  his  telling; 
And  the  boast  was  true  beyond  a 

doubt 
If  he    had    only    pronounced    it 

"  gout," 
According  to  English  spelling! 

XXIX. 

A  crockery-merchant  of  great  pa 
rade, 

Always  boasting  of  having  made 

His  large  estnte  in  the  China  trade; 
Several  affluent  tanners; 

A  lawyer,  whose  most  important 
"  case  " 

Was  that  which  kept  his  books  in 
place ; 


CAPTAIN   JONES'S   MISADVENTURE. 


45 


His    wife,    a    lady    of   matchless 
grace, 

Who  bought  her  form,  and  made 

her  face. 

And  plainly  borrowed  her  man 
ners  ; 

XXX. 

A  druggist  :  an  undevout  divine  ; 
A  banker,  who'd  got  as  rich  as  a 

mine 
il  In  the   cotton   trade   and   sugar 

line," 

Along  the  Atlantic  border  ; 
A    doctor,    fumbling    his    golden 

seals  ; 
And   an   undertaker  close  at  his 

heels, 
Quite  in  the  natural  order! 

XXXI. 

People  of    rank,    and    people    of 

wealth, 

Plethoric  people  in  delicate  health 
(Who  fast  in  public,  and  feast  by 

stealth), 

And  people  slender  and  hearty 
Flocked  in  so  fast,  'twas  plain  to 

the  eye 

Of  any  observer  standing  by, 
That    party-spirit    was    running 

high, 
And  this  was  the  popular  party ! 

XXXII. 

To  tell  what  griefs  and  woes  betide 
The   hapless    world,  from    female 

pride, 

Were  a  ]ong  and  dismal  story; 
Alas  for  SUSAN  and  womankind  ! 
A  sudden  ambition  seized  her 

mind, 
In  the  height  of  her  party-glory. 

XXXIII. 

To  pique  a  group  of  laughing  girls 
Who  stood  admiring  the  Captain's 
curls, 


She  formed  the  resolution 
To  get  a  lock  of  her  lover's  hair, 
!n  the  gaze  of  the  guests  assembled 

there, 

By  some  expedient,  foul  or  fair. 
'Before  the  party's  conclusion. 

XXXIV. 

"Only  a  lock,  dear  Captain!  no 

more, 

'  A  lock  for  memory,'  I  implore !  " 
But  JONES,  the  gayest  of  qniz- 

zers, 
Replied,   as    he    gave    his  eye  a 

cock, 
"  'T  is     a     treacherous    memory 

needs  a  lock,'' 
And  dodged  the  envious  scissors. 

XXXV. 

Alas  that  SUSAN  could  n't  refrain. 
In  her  zeal   the   precious  lock   to 

gain, 
From  laying  her  hand  on  the  lion's 

mane! 

To  see  the  cruel  mocking, 
And  hear  the  short,  affected  cough, 
The  general    titter,  and   chuckle, 

and  scoff, 
When  the   Captain's  Patent   Wig 

came  off", 
Was  really  dreadfully  shocking! 

XXXVI. 

Of   SUSAN'S    swoon,   the    tale    is 
told. 

That    long    before    her     earthly 

mould 
Regained  its  ghostly  tenant, 

Her    luckless,     wigless,     loveless 
lover 

Was  on  the    sea,  and  "  half-seas- 
over," 

Dreaming     that    some     piratical 

rover 
Had  carried  awav  his  Pennant1 


46 


MIRALDA. 


MIRALDA  : 

A   TALE   OF   CUBA.l 


IN  Cuba,  when  that  lovely  land 

Saw  Tacon reigning  in  his  glory, 
How    Justice  held,   at  his    com 
mand, 

ler  balance  with  an  even  hand  — 
Learn  while  you   listen  to  my 
story. 

n. 

Miralda  —  such       her       maiden 

name  — 
Was  poor  and  fair,  and  gay  and 

witty, 

Yet  in  Havana  not  a  dame 
In  satin  had  a  fairer  fame, 

Or  owned   a   face  one    half  so 
pretty. 

in. 

For  years  she   plied  her  humble 

trade 

(To  sell  cigars  was  her  vocation), 
And  many  a  gay  gallant  had  paid 
More  pounds  to  please  the  hand 
some  maid 

Than   pence  to  buy    his    soul's 
salvation. 

IV. 

But  though  the  maiden,  like  the 

sun, 
Had  smiles  for  every  transient 

rover, 
Her  smiles   were  all   the   bravest 

won  ; 

Miralda  gave  her  heart  to  none 
Save  Pedro,  her  affianced  lover; 

v. 

Pedro,  a  manly  youth  who  bore 
His  station  well  as  labor's  vas 
sal, 
The  while  he  plied  a  nimble  oar 


For    passengers,    from    shore    to 

shore, 

Between    the    Punta    and    the 
Castle. 


The  handsome  boatman  she  had 

learned 
To    love    with    fondest,   truest 

passion; 
For  him   she  saved  the   cold  she. 

earned ; 

For  him  Miralda  proudly  spurned 
The   doubtful   suit  of   men   of 
fashion. 

VII. 

Of  these  —  a  giddy,  gaudy  train, 
Strict  devotees  of  wanton  Please 

are  — 
Gay    Count    Almonte1    sought    to 

gain 

Miralda's  love;  but  all  in  vain; 
Her  heart  was  still  her  Pedro's 
treasure. 

VIII. 

At  last  the   Count,   in   sheer  df'- 

spair 

Of   gaining    aught    by    patient 
suing, 

Contrived  —  the  wretch !  —  a  cun 
ning  snare, 

By  wicked  force  to  win  and  wear 

The  prize  that  spurned  his  gentler 
wooing. 


One  day  a  dashing  Captain  came, 
Before   the    morning    sun    had 

risen, 
And,  bowing,  begged  to  know  her 

name. 
"Miralda."      "Faith!    it   is   the 

same. 

Here.  men.  conduct  the  girl  to 
prison!  " 


MIRALDA. 


47 


"  Bv  whose  authority  V  "  she  said. 
"The     Governor's!"      "Nay, 

then  't  is  folly 
To  question  more."     She  dropped 

her  head, 
And   followed  where  the  Captain 

led, 

O'erwhehned  with  deepest  mel- 
ancholy. 


The  prison  seems  a  league  or  more 
From    poor    Miralda's    humble 

shanty; 

Was  e'er  such  treachery  before  V 
The  Count  Almonte  's  at  the  door, 
To    hand    her   down   from   the 
volant(5 ! 


"Ah,  coward!  "  cried  the  angry 

maid ; 

"This  scurvy  trick!     If  Tacon 
knew  it, 

Your     prec'ious    '  Captain,'    I  'm 
afraid, 

Would  miss,  for  once,  his  dress- 
parade  ! 

Release  me,  Count,  or  you  may 
rue  it !  " 

xin. 

"Nay,"   said    the   Count,    "that 

may  not  be ; 

I  cannot  let  you  go  at  present ; 
I  '11  lock  you  up  awhile."  said  he; 
"  If  you  are  lonely,  send  for  me; 
I  '11   try   to   make    your  prison 
pleasant." 

XIV. 

Poor  Pedro!  guess  the  lad's  dis 
may, 

His  stark  astonishment,  at  learn 
ing 

His  lady-love  had  gone  away 


(But  how  or  whither  none  could 

say), 

And  left  no  word  about  return 
ing! 

xv. 

The  man  who  wrote  that  "  Love  is 

blind  " 
Could  ne'er  have  known  a  gen- 

nine  lover; 

Poor  Pedro  gave  his  anxious  mind 
Miralda's  hiding-place  to  find, 
And  found  it  ere  the  day  was 
over. 

XVI. 

Clad  in  a  friar's  garb,  he  hies 
At  night  to   where  his  love   is 

hidden, 

And,  favored  by  his  grave  disguise, 
He  learns  that  she  is  safe,  —  and 

flies, 
As  he  had  entered,  unforbidden. 

XVII. 

What  could  he  do'?  he  pondered 

long 

On  every  plausible  suggestion. 
Alas  !  the  rich  may  do  a  wrong, 
And  buy  their  quittance  wich  a 

song, 
If  any  dare  the  deed  to  question  ', 

XVIII. 

'"  Yet  Humor  whispered  long  ago 
(Although   she  's   very  fond  of 

lying), 
'  Tacon  luves  justice  !  '     May  be 

so; 
Quitn    sale  ?      Let    his     answei 

show  ! 

I  '11   go  and  see;   it  is  but  try 
in!" 


And,  faith,  the  boatman  kept  his 

word  ; 
To  Tacon  he  the  tale  related. 


48 


MIRALDA. 


Which,    when   the   Governor  had 

heard, 
With  righteous  wrath  his   breast 

was  stirred. 
"  Swear,  boy,"  he  said,  "  to  what 

you  've  stated!  " 

xx. 

He  took  the  oath,  and  straight  be- 

gan 
For   speedy  justice  to  implore 

him : 
Great  Tacon  frowned,  "  Be  silent, 

man !  " 
Then  called  the  guard :  away  they 

ran. 
And  soon  the  culprit  stood  before 

him ! 

XXI. 

Miralda  too  was  standing  near, 
To  witness  to  his  dark  transgres 
sion. 
"  Know  you,  my  lord,   why  you 

are  here?  " 

"Yes,  Excellencia,  it  is  clear 
That  I  must  plead  an  indiscre 
tion." 


XXIV. 

''  Enough  !  "  the  Governor  replied, 

And  added,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 

"  Go,  bring  a  Priest !  "     What  can 

betide? 

To  shrive  'i  to  wed  V  who  can  de 
cide  V 

All   stood  and  mused  in  silent 
wonder. 

XXV. 

The  Priest  was  brought,  —  <i  rev 
erend  head, 
His   hands    with  holy  emblems 

laden. 

"  Now,  Holy  Father,  please  to  wed, 
And  let  the  rite  be  quickly  sped, 
Senor  Almonte'  and   this  maid 
en  !  " 

XXVI. 

Poor  Pedro  stood  aghast !  With  fear 
And  deep  dismay  Miralda  trem 
bled  ; 

While  Count  Almonte,  thus  to  hear 
The  words  of  doom  that  smote  his 

ear, 
His  sudden  horror  ill  dissembled. 


xxn.  • 

;  The  uniform  your  servants  wore   . 
In  this  affair,— how  came  they   !    lo°  late!  for  in  tll!lt  presence  none 

Had  dared  a  whisper  of  negation. 
The  words  were  said;  the  deed 

was  done; 
The  Church  had  joined  the  two  in 

one 

Ere  they  had  breath  for  lamen 
tation ! 

XXVIII. 

The  Count  rode  off  with  drooping 

head, 

Cursing  his  fortune  and  his  foil  v; 
But  ere  a  mile  his  steed  had  sped, 
A  flash!  —  and  lo  !  the  Count  U 

dead. 

Slain  by  a  murderous  leaden  vol 
ley. 


Whose  sword  was  that  your  Cap 
tain  bore? 

The   crime   is   grave."     "Nay,   I 

implore 

Your  clemency;   I  can't   deny 
it." 

XXIII. 

*  This    damsel    here,  —  has    any 

stain 
By  act  of  yours  been  put  upon 

her?" 

"No,  Excellencia-,  all  in  vain 
Were  bribes  and  threats  her  will 

to  gain,  — 
I  here  declare  it  on  my  honor!  " 


LK  JARDIN-  MARILLE. 


49 


XXIX. 

Soon  came  the  officer  who  bore 
The  warrant  ofliis  execution, 

With,  "Excellencia,  all  is  o'er; 

Senor  Almonte-  is  no  more; 

Sooth !  —  't  was  a  fearful   retri 
bution!  " 

XXX. 

"  Xo\v  let  the  herald,"  Tacon  said, 
"(That  none  these  doings  may 

"disparage,) 

Proclaim  Senor  Almonte1  dead; 
And  that  Miralda  take,  instead, 
His   land-,  new  hers  by  lawful 
marriage!  " 

XXXI. 

And  so  it  was  the  lovers  came 
To     happiness     beyond     their 

dreaming, 

And  ever  after  blessed  the  name 
Of   him   who   spared   a  maiden's 

shame. 

And   spoiled  a  villain's  wicked 
scheming. 


LE  JARDIX   MABILLE. 


SHOULD  you  e'er  go  to  France  — 
as  of  course  you  intend  — 

(Though  the  Great  Exposition  is 
now  at  an  end,) 

And  in  Paris  should  stroll  —  as 
I  'm  certain  you  will  — 

In  the  Gardens  adorned  with  such 
exquisite  skill 

To  call  them  "  Elysian  "  is  scarcely 
to  reach 

What  the  grammars  entitle  a 
"  figure  of  speech,"  — 

Don't  fail,  ere  you  go,  for  a  mo 
ment  to  steal 

A  look  at  the  spot  called  the  Jardin 
Mubille. 


'T  is  a  place  of  enchantment!   a 

rural  retreat 
Where   Nature   and    Art  in   such 

harmonv  meet 
To  form  an  Elysium  of  music  and 

flowers, 

Of  moss-covered  grottos  and  fairy- 
like  bowers, 
Where  lamps  blaze  in  tulips,  and 

glow-worms  of  gas 
Illumine  the  roses  and  gleam  in  the 

grass.  — 
That,  merely  to  see  it,  one  cannot 

but  feel 
If  there  's  Heaven  on  Earth,  't  is 

the  Jardin  Mabille  ! 


But  wait  until  midnight,  or,  say, 

one  o'clock, 

When  hither  by  hundreds  the  cit 
izens  flock, 
And   strangers    unnumbered    are 

strolling  around 
In    the   serpentine   walks  of   the 

beautiful  ground; 
Just  wait,  if  you  please,  till  the 

dance  is  begun, 
And   then,    at  the   height  of  the 

frolic  and  fun, 
Pray   look  where  the  bacchanals 

caper  and  reel, 
And  say  what  you  think  of  the 

Jardin  Mabille .' 


The  music  —  the  maddest  that  ever 
you  heard — 

Strikes  up  from  the  stand,  and 
away,  at  the  word, 

The  dancers  revolve,  —  'tis  the 
waltz,  that  is  all; 

The  same  you  have  witnessed  at 
many  a  ball. 

There  's  nothing  extremely  sur 
prising  in  this, 


50 


THE  BKAUTY   OF  BALLSTON. 


The  motion  is  swift,  but  there  's 

little  amiss; 
You   merely   remark,   "  There   is 

plenty  of  zeal 
In  the  dancers  who  dance  in  the 

Jardin  AfabilleJ" 


But  see!  where  the  people  are 
closing  about 

Two  brazen-browed  women;  and 
hark  to  the  shout, 

"  La  Can-can  !  —  they  're  at  it !  " 
—  No  wonder  you  stare, 

One  foot  on  the  pavement,  —  now 
two  in  the  air! 

A  Cockney,  intent  on  this  rarest 
of  shows, 

Retreats  from  the  shoe  that  is  graz 
ing  his  nose ! 

Good  lack!  till  he  dies,  he  '11  re 
member  the  heel 

That  spoiled  his  new  hat  in  the 
Jardin  Mubillt ! 


There  's  drinking  and  gaming  at 

many  a  stand; 
There  's   feasting   and   flirting  on 

every  hand; 
The  Paphian  queen,  it  were  easy 

to  tell, 

Is  the  Abbess,  to-night,  of  yon  an 
chorite  cell; 
And  the  marvelling  Turk  (for  the 

Sultan  is  here!) 
Cries,   "Allah!   Meslmllnh!   these 

Christians  are  queer! 
Such  orgies  as  these  very  plainly 

reveal 
Why  they  don't  take  their  wives 

to  the  Jardin  Mab'dlt  I  " 


"  A  pity !  "  you  sigh,  —and  a  pity 

it  is 
Such  revels  should  shame  such  a 

garden  as  this; 


Where   all    that    is  charming    in 
Nature  and  Art 

Serves  only  to  sully  and  harden 
the  heart. 

"The    Devil's    own   hot-house!" 
you  musingly  say, 

While  turning  in  sadness  and  sor- 
sow  away ; 

Reflecting   that  Sin  —  as  you  po 
tently  feel  — 

Is  the  thriftiest  plant  in  the  Jardin 

Mabilk  I 
1867. 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  BALLSTON. 

AFTER  PRAED.2 

IN  Ballston  —  once  a  famous  spot, 
Ere  Saratoga  came  in  fashion  — 
I  had  a  transient  fit  of  what 

The  poets  call  the  "tender  pas 
sion  " ; 
In  short,  when  I  was  young  and 

gay, 
And   Fancy  held  the  throne  of 

Reason, 

I  fell  in  love  with  Julia  May, 
The  reigning  beauty  of  the  sea- 


Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  such  a 

pair! 
No    star    in    heaven    was    ever 

brighter; 

Her  skin  was  most  divinely  fair; 
1  never  saw  a  shoulder  whiter. 
And  there  was  something  in  her 

form 
(Juste  tn-bvn-point,  I  think  they 

term  it) 

That  really  was  enough  to  warm 
The  icy  bosom  of  a  hermit! 

In  sooth,  she  was  a  witching  girl, 
And    even    women    called    her 
pretty, 


THE  BEAUTY   OF  BALLSTON. 


51 


Who  saw  her  in  the  waltz's  whirl, 

Beneath  the  glare  of  spermaceti; 

Or    if   they   carped  —  as    Candor 

must 
When  wounded  pride  and  envy 

rankle  — 

'T  was  only  that  so  full  a  bust 
Should  heave  above  so  trim  an 
ankle ! 

One  eve,  remote  from  festive  mirth, 
Wo   talked   of  Mature  and  her 

treasures; 
I    said: — "Of   all    the   joys    of 

earth, 
Pray  name  the  sweetest  of  her 

pleasures." 
She   gazed   with    rapture    at   the 

moon 
That     struggled    through     the 

spreading  beeches, 
And  answered  thus:  —  "A  grove 

—  at  noon  — 

A  friend  —  and  lots  of  cream  and 
peaches! " 

I    spoke    of   trees,  —  the    stately 

oak 
That   stands  the  forest's  royal 

leader; 
The  whispering  pine;  and  then  I 

spoke 

Of  Lebanon's  imperial  cedar; 
The  maple  of  our  colder  clime; 
The  elm   with   branches   inter- 
meeting,  — 
She   thought  the    palm   must   be 

sublime, 
And  —  dates  were  very  luscious 

eating! 

I  talked  about  the  sea  and  sky, 
And  spoke,  with  something  like 

emotion, 

Of  countless  pearly  gems  that  lie 
I'ngathered    by    the    sounding 

ocean. 

She  smiled,  and   said,  (was  it   in 
jest?) 


Of  all  the  shells  that    Nature 

boasted 
She  thought  that  oysters  were  the 

best, 
"And,  dearest,  don't  you  love 

'em  roasted !  " 

I    talked    of    books    and   classic 

lore ; 

I  spoke  of  Cooper's   latest  fic 
tion, 

Recited  melodies  from  Moore, 
And  lauded  Irving's  charming 

diction  ;  — 
She   sat   entranced  ;    then    raised 

her  head, 
And  with  a  smile  that  seemed 

of  heaven, 

"  \Ve  must  return,"  the  siren  said, 
"  Or  we  shall  lose  the  lunch  at 
'levcn !  " 

I    can't    describe    the    dreadful 

shock, 
The  mingled  sense  of  love  and 

pity, 
With    which,    next    day,    at    ten 

o'clock, 

I  started  for  Manhattan  city; 
'T  was     years     ago,  —  that     sad 

"  Good  by," 
Yet  o'er  the  scene  fond  memory 

lingers  ; 
I  see  the  crystals  in  her  eye, 

And  berry-stains  upon  her  fin 
gers! 

Ah  me!  of  so  much  loveliness 
It  had  been  sweet  to  be  the  wirr 

ner  ; 

I  know  she  loved  me  only  less  — 
The  merest  fraction  — than  her 

dinner. 

'T  was  hard  to  lose  so  fair  a  prixe, 
But   then    (I    thought)    'twere 

vastly  harder 

To  have  before  my  jealous  eyes 
A  constant  rival  in  my  larder! 


52 


WHEN  I  MEAN   TO  MARRY. 

WHEN  do   I  mean   to  marry  V  — 
Well, 

'T  is  idle  to  dispute  with  fate; 
But  if  you  choose  to  hear  me  tell, 
1'ray  listen  while  I  fix  the  date. 

When  daughters  haste,  with  eager 

feet, 

A  mother's  daily  toil  to  share; 
Can  make    the    puddings    which 

they  eat, 

And  mend  the  stockings  which 
they  wear: 

When  maidens  look  upon  a  man 
As  in  himself  what  they  would 
marry, 

And  not  as  army-soldiers  scan 
A  sutler  or  a  commissary  ; 

When  gentle  ladies,  who  have  got 
The  offer  of  a  lover's  hand, 

Consent  to  share  his  earthly  lot, 
And  do  not  mean  his  lot  of  land  ; 

When    young   mechanics   are   al 

lowed 

To  find  and  wed  the  farmers'  girls 
AVho  don't  expect  to  be  endowed 
With    rubies,     diamonds,     and 
peaiis  ; 

When  wives,  in  short,  shall  freely 

give 
Their  hearts  and   hands  to   aid 

their  spouses, 

And  live  as  they  were  wont  to  live 
Within     their    sires'     one-story 
houses  ; 

Then,  -madam,  —  if  I'm   not  too 

old,  — 

Rejoiced  to  quit  this  lonely  life, 
I'll  brush  mv  beaver  ;    cease    to 

scold  ;' 
And  look  about  me  for  a  wife  ! 


REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 

A  REFLECTIVE  RETROSPECT. 


'T  is  twenty  years,  and  something 

more, 
Since,    all    athirst    for    useful 

knowledge, 

I  took   some  draughts  of  classic 
lore, 

Drawn    very    mild,     at rd 

College; 
Yet  I  remember  all  that  one 

Couid   wish    to    hold   in    recol 
lection; 
The  boys,  the  joys,  the  noise,  the 

fun ; 
But  not  a  single  Conic  Section. 

I  recollect  those  harsh  affairs, 
The  morning  bells  that  gave  us 

panics; 

I  recollect  the  formal  prayers, 
That  seemed  like  lessons  in  Me 
chanics; 
I  recollect  the  drowsy  way 

In  which  the  students  listened 

to  them, 

As  clearly,  in  my  wig,  to-day. 
As    when,  a   boy,   I   slumbereu 
through  them. 

I  recollect  the  tutors  all 

As  freshly  now,  if  I  may  say  so, 
As  any  chapter  I  recall 

In  Homer  or  Ovidius  Xaso. 
I  recollect,  extremely  well. 

"  Old    Hugh,"  the    mildest    of 

fanatics; 
I  well  remember  Matthew  Bell, 

But  very  faintly,  Mathematics. 

T  recollect  the  prizes  paid 

For    lessons    fathomed    to    the 

bottom ; 
(Alas   that    pencil-marks    should 

fade!) 
I  recollect   the   chaps   who    got 

'cm,  — 
The  light  equestrian?  who  soared 


THE  KNOWING    CHILD. 


53 


O'er    every    passage    reckoned 

stony ; 
And  took  t'lie  chalks, — but  never 

scored 
A  single  honor  to  the  pony ! 

Ah  me!    what  changes  Time  has 

wrought, 

And  how  predictions  have  mis 
carried  ! 
A  few  have  reached  the  goal  they 

sought, 
And  some  are  dead,  and  some 

are  married ! 
And  some  in  city  journals  war  ; 

And  some  as  politicians  bicker; 
And   some   are    pleading    at    the 

bar  — 
For  jury-verdicts,  or  for  liquor! 

And  some  on  Trade  and  Commerce   I 

wait; 
And  some  in  schools  with  dunces 

battle; 

And  some  the  Gospel  propagate; 
And  some  the  choicest  breeds  of 

cattle; 

And  some  are  living  at  their  ease; 
And  some  were  wrecked  in  '"  the 

revulsion  " ; 
Some  serve  the  State  for  handsome 

fees, 

And  one,  I  hear,  upon  compul 
sion! 

LAMOXT,  who,  in  his  college  days, 
Thought  e'en   a  cross  a  moral 

scandal, 

Has  left  his  Puritanic  ways, 
And  worships  now  with  bell  and 

candle; 

And  MAXX,  who  mourned  the  ne 
gro's  fate, 
And   held   the    slave    as    most 

unlucky, 
Xow   holds  him,    at  the    market 

rate, 
On  a  plantation  in  Kentucky! 


TOM  Kxox —  who  swore  in  such 

a  tone 
It    fairly    might    be     doubted 

whether 
It  really  was  himself  alone. 

Or  Knox  and  Krebus  together  — 
Has  grown  a  very  altered  man, 
And,   changing   oaths   for   mild 

entreaty, 
Now  recommends  the    Christian 

plan 
To  savages  in  Otaheite ! 

Alas  for  young  ambition's  vow ! 
How   envious    Fate   may   over' 

throw  it !  — 

Poor  HAKVEY  is  in  Congress  now, 
Who  struggled  long  to  be  a  poet ; 
SMITH  carves  (quite  well)  memo 
rial  stones, 
Who  tried  in  vain  to  make  the 

law  go; 
HALL  deals  in  hides;  and  "Pious 

Jones  " 
Is  dealing  faro  in  Chicago! 

And,    sadder    still,    the    brilliant 

HAYS, 
Once  honest,  manly,  and  ambi 

tious, 

Has  taken  latterly  to  ways 
Extremely    profligate    and    vi 
cious; 
By    slow    degrees  —  I    can't    tell 

how  — 
He  's  reached  at  last  the  very 

groundsel, 

And  in  New  York  he  figures  now, 
A  member  of  the  Common  Coun 
cil! 


THE   KNOWING   CHILD. 

"  L'  Enfant  terrible  !  " 


IS,  tjardez  vouz,  mon  cher," 
she  said, 
And  then  the  mother  smiled; 


54 


IDEAL   AND  REAL. 


"  Speak  very  softly,  if  you  please, 
He's  such  a  knowing  child!  " 

Mv  simple  sister  spoke  the  truth ; 

vfhere  is  n't,  I  suppose, 
A  thing  on    earth   he   should  n't 
know 

But  what  that  urchin  knows ! 

And  all  he  knows  the  younker  tells 
In  such  a  knowing  way; 

For  what  he  knows,  you  may  be 

sure, 
He  does  not  fear  to  say. 

He  knows  he  is  an  arrant  churl, 
Although  he  looks  so  mild ; 

And  —  worst  of  all  —  full  well  he 

knows 
He  is  a  knowing  child. 

He  knows  —  I  've  often  told  him 
so  — 

I  am  averse  to  noise; 
He  knows  his  uncle  is  n't  fond 

Of  martial  little  boys; 

And   that,    no   doubt,  is   why  he 

pounds 

His  real  soldier  drum 
Beneath  my   window,   morn  and 

night, 
Until  my  ear  is  numb ! 

He  knows  my  age  —  that  dreadful 
boy  — 

Exactly  to  a  day; 
He  knows  precisely  why  my  locks 

Have  not  a  thread  of  gray. 

He  knows  —  and  says  ( what  shock 
ing  talk 

For  one  so  very  small!) 
My    head  —  without     my     curly 

scratch  — 
Looks  like  a  billiard  ball! 

He  knows  that  Mary's  headache 

means 
She  does  n't  wish  to  go; 


And  lets  the  sacred  secret  out 
Before  her  waiting  beau! 

He    knows     why    Clara     always 

coughs 

When  she  is  asked  to  sing; 
He  knows  (and  blabs!)  that  Julia's 

bust 
Is  not  the  real  thing! 

He  knows  about  the  baby  too; 

Though  he  has  often  heard 
The  nurse's  old,  convenient  tale, 

He  don't  believe  a  word. 

And  when  those  ante-natal  caps 
Their  future  use  disclose, 

He   knows    again  —  the   knowing 

imp  — 
Just  what  his  uncle  knows! 

Ah !  well ;   no  doubt,  what   Time 

may  bring 

'T  is  better  not  to  see; 
I   know   not   what   the  changeful 

Fates 
May  have  in  store  for  me ; 

But  if  within  the  nuptial  noose 
My  neck  should  be  beguiled, 

Heaven  save  the  house  from  child- 

lessness 
And  from  a  knowing  child! 


IDEAL   AND  REAL. 

IDEAL. 

SOME    years    ago,    when    I    was 

young, 
And'  Mrs.  Jones  was  Mi?s   De- 

lar.c  v : 

When  wedlock's  canopy  was  hung 
With  curtains  from  the  loom  of 

fancy; 

I  used  to  paint  my  future  life 
With  most  poetical  precision,  — 


THE   GAME    OF  LIFE. 


55 


My  special  wonder  of  a  wife; 
My    linppy    days;     my    nights 
Elysian. 

I  "saw  a  lady,  rather  small 

(A  Juno  was  my  strict  abhor 
rence), 

With  flaxen  hair,  contrived  to  fall 
In  careless  ringlets,  a  la  Law 
rence; 
A   blond   complexion;    eyes   that 

drew 
Froni  autumn  clouds  their  azure 

brightness; 

The  foot  of  Hebe;  arms  whose  hue 
Was  perfect  in  its  milky  white 
ness! 

1  saw  a  party,  quite  select,  — 
There  might  have  been  a  baker's 

dozen ; 
A  parson,  of  the  ruling  sect; 

A  bridemaid,  and  a  city  cousin; 
A  formal  speech  to  me  and  mine, 
(Its  meaning  I  could  scarce  dis 
cover  ; ) 

A  taste  of  cake;  a  sip  of  wine; 
Some   kissing — and   the   scene 
was  over ! 

I  saw  a  baby  —  one  —  no  more ; 

A  cherub  pictured,  rather  faint 
ly, 
Beside  a  pallid  dame  who  wore 

A  countenance  extreme! v  saint 
ly. 
I  saw,  — but  nothing  could  I  hear, 

Except  the  softest  prattle, maybe, 
i'lie  merest  breath  upon  the  ear,  — 

So  quiet  was  that  blessed  baby! 

REAL. 

I  see  a  woman,  rather  tall, 

And  yet,  I  own.  a  comely  lady; 

Complexion  —  such  as  I  must  call 
(To  be  exact)  a  little  shady; 

1  hand   not  handsome,  yet  con 
fessed 
A  generous  one  for  love  or  pity; 


A     nimble     foot,     and  —  neatly 

dressed 
In  No.  5  —  extremely  pretty! 

I  see  a  group  of  boys  and  girls 
Assembled  round  the  knee  pater 
nal 
With    ruddy  cheeks  and  tangled 

curls, 

And  manners  not  at  all  supernal. 

And  one  has  reached  a  manly  size; 

And   one    aspires    to    woman's 

stature ; 

And  one  is  quite  a  recent  prize, 
*    And   all  abound  in  human  na 
ture! 

The  boys  are  hard  to  keep  in  trim ; 

The  girls  are  often  rather  trying; 
And  baby  —  like  the  cherubim  — 

Seerns  very  fond  of  steady  cry 
ing! 

And  yet  the  precious  little  one, 
.    His  mother's  dear,  despotic  mas 
ter, 
Is  worth  a  thousand  babies  done 

In  Parian  or  in  alabaster! 

And  oft  that  stately  dame  and  I, 
When   laughing  o'er  our  early 

dreaming. 

And  marking,  as  the  years  go  by, 
How    idle     was    our    youthful 

scheming, 
Confess  the  wiser  Power  that  knew 

How  Duty  every  joy  enhances. 
And   gave  us   blessings  rich  and 

true, 

And  better  far  than  all  our  fan 
cies. 


THE  GAME   OF  LIFE. 

A   HOMILY.. 

THKHE  's  a  game  much  in  fashion, 
—  I  think  it's  called  Euchre, 

(Though  I  never  have  played  it,  fof 
pleasure  or  lucre, ) 


56 


THE  PUZZLED    CENSUS-TAKER. 


In  which,  when  the  cards  are  in 
certain  conditions, 

The  players  appear  to  have 
changed  their  positions, 

And  one  of  them  cries,  in  a.  confi 
dent  tone, 

"  I  think  I  may  venture  to  go  it 
alone  ! 

While  watching  the  game,  'tis  a 

whim  of  the  bard's 
A  moral  to  draw  from  that  skirmish 

of  cards, 
And  to  fancy  he  finds  in  the  triviak 

strife 
Some  excellent  hints  for  the  battle 

of  Life ; 
Where  —  whether  the  prize   be  a 

ribbon  or  throne  — 
The  winner  is  he  who  can  go  it 

alone ! 

When    great    Galileo    proclaimed 

that  the  world 
In  a  regular  orbit  was  ceaselessly 

whirled, 
And  got  —  not  a  convert  —  for  all 

of  his  pains, 
But  only  derision  and  prison  and 

chains, 
"  It  moves,  for  all  that!  "  was  his 

answering  tone. 
For  he  knew,  like  the  Karth,  lie 

could  go  it  alone! 

When  Kepler,  with  intellect  pier 
cing  afar, 

Discovered  the  laws  of  each  planet 
and  star, 

And  doctors,  who  ought  to  have 
lauded  his  name, 

Derided  his  learning,  and  black 
ened  his  fame, 

"  I  can  wait  !  "  he  replied,  "  till  the 
truth  you  shall  own  "  ; 

For  he  felt  in  his  heart  he  could  go 
it  alone ! 


Alas !  for  the  player  who  idly  de 
pends, 

In  the  struggle  of  life,  upon  kin 
dred  or  friends; 

Whatever  the  value  of  blessings 
like  these, 

They  can  never  atone  for  inglorious 
ease, 

Nor  comfort  the  coward  who  finds, 
with  a  groan, 

That  his  crutches  have  left  him  to 
go  it  alone ! 

There  's  something,  no  doubt,  in 
the  hand  yon  may  hold, 

Health,  family,  culture,  wit,  beau 
ty,  and  gold 

The  fortunate  owner  may  fairly 
regard 

As,  each  in  its  way,  a  most  excel 
lent  card: 

Yet  the  game  may  be  lost,  with  all 
these  for  your  own, 

Unless  you  've  the  courage  to  go  it 
alone ! 

In  battle  or  business,  whatever  the 

game, 
In  law  or  in  love,   it  is  ever  the 

same; 
In  the  struggle  for  power,  or  the 

scramble  for  pelf, 
Let  this  lie  your  motto, — Re ly  on 

yourself! 
For,  whether  the  prize  be  a  ribbon 

or  throne, 
The    victor   is  he  who  can  go  it 

alone ! 


THE   PUZZLED   CENSUS- 
TAKER. 

"GoT  any  boys?"   the    Marshal 

said 
To  a  ladv  from  over  the  Rnine; 


THE  HEART  AND    THE  LIVER. 


57 


And  the  lady  shookherflaxonhesul, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  /  "  * 

"Got   any   girls?"    the    Marshal 

said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine; 
And  again  the  lady  shook  her 

head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "Nein!" 

"  Rut  some  are  dead'?"  the  Mar 
shal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine ; 
And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head, 

And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  !  " 

"  Husband  of  course?  "  the  Mar 
shal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine; 
And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen 

head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  I " 

"The  devil  you  have!  "  the  Mar 
shal  said 

To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine; 

And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen 

head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nein  I " 

"  Now  what  do  you  mean  by  shak 
ing  your  head, 

Ami  always  answering,  '  Nine  '  f  " 
11  Jch  k'uin  nicltt  Engliach  !  "  civilly 

said 
The  lady  from  over  the  Rhine. 


THE  HEART  AND  THE  LIVER. 

MUSINGS   OF   A   DYSPEPTIC. 


SHE'S    broken-hearted,    I    have 

heard, — 
\Vh:\tv'er  nviy  be  the  reason; 

*  Nfirt,  pronounced  nine,  is  tha  Ger 
man  for  "  Aro." 


(Such  things  will  happen  now  and 
then 

In  Love's  tempestuous  season;) 
But  still  I  marvel  she  should  show 

No  plainer  outward  token, 
If  such  a  vital  inward  part 

Were  very  badly  broken  ! 


She  's  broken-hearted,  I  am  told, 

And  so,  of  course,  believe  it; 
When  truth  is  fairly  certified 

I  modestly  receive  it ; 
But  after  such  an  accident, 

It  surely  is  a  blessing, 
It  does  n't  in  the  least  impair 

Her  brilliant  stvle  of  dressing! 


She  's   broken-hearted:    who   can 
doubt 

The  noisy  voice  of  Rurnor? 
And  yet  she  seems  —  for  such  a 
wreck  — 

In  no  unhappy  humor; 
She  sleeps  ( I  hear)  at  proper  hours, 

When  other  folks  are  dozy; 
Her  eyes  are  sparkling  as  of  yore, 

And  still  her  cheeks  are  rosy ! 


She  's  broken-hearted,    and  they 

say 

She  never  can  recover; 
And    then  —  in    not    the    mildest 

way  — 

They  blame  some  fickle  lover; 
I    know    she  's    dying  —  by    de 
grees  — 

But,  sure  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 

I  saw  her  eat,  the  other  day, 

A  most  prodigious  dinner! 


Alas!  that  I,  in  idle  rhyme, 
Should  e'er  profanely  question 

( As  I  have  done  while  musing  o'er 
My  chronic  indigestion) 


58 


WHERE    THERE'S  A    WILL    THERE'S  A   WAY. 


If  one  should  not  receive  the  blow 
With  blessings  on  the  Giver, 

That  only  falls  upon  the  heart, 
And  kindly  spares  the  LIVER  ! 


ABOUT  HUSBANDS. 

"A  man  is,  in  general,  better  pleased 
when  he  has  a  good  dinner  upon  his 
lable,  than  when  his  wife  speaks 
Greek.''  —  SAM.  JOHNSON. 

JOHNSON  was  right.     I  don't  agree 

to  all 
The  solemn  dogmas  of  the  rough 

old  stager; 
But  very  much  approve  what  one 

may  call 

The  minor  morals  of  the  "  Ursa 
Major." 

Johnson  was  right.    Although  some 

men  adore 
Wisdom    in    woman,   and   with 

learning  cram  her, 
There  is  n't  one  in  ten  but  thinks 

far  more 

Of  his   own   grub   than  of  his 
spouse's  grammar. 

I  know  it  is  the  greatest  shame  in 

life; 

But  who  among  them  (save,  per 
haps,  myself) 
Returning  hungry  home,  but  asks 

his  wife 

What    beef  —  not   books  —  she 
has  upon  the  shelf? 

Though  Greek  and  Latin  be  the 

lady's  boast, 

They  're  little  valued  by  her  lov 
ing  mate ; 
The  kind  of  tongue  that  husbands 

relish  most 

Is  modern,  boiled,   and  served 
upon  a  plate. 


Or  if,  as  fond  ambition  may  com 
mand, 

Some  home-made  verse  the  hap 
py  matron  show  him, 
What  mortal  spouse  but  from  her 

dainty  hand 

Would  sooner  see  a  pudding  than 
a  poem  'I 

Young  lady,  —  deep  in  love  with 

Tom  or  Harry,  — 
'T  is  sad  to  tell  you  such  a  tale 

as  this; 
But  here 's  the  moral  of  it:  Do  not 

marry; 

Or.  marrying,  take  your  lover  as 
he  is,  — 

A  very  man,  —  with  something  of 

the  brute 
(Unless  he  prove  a  sentimental 

noddy), 
With  passions  strong  and  appetite 

to  boot, 

A  thirsty  soul  within  a  hungry 
body. 

A  very  man,  — not  one  of  nature's 

clods,  — 
With   human   failings,   whether 

saint  or  sinner; 
Endowed,    perhaps,    with    genius 

from  the  gods, 

But  apt  to  take  his  temper  from 
his  dinner. 


WHERE     THERE  'S     A     WILL 

THERE  'S   A   WAY. 
"  Aut  viam  inveniam,  aut  faciam." 

IT  was  a  noble  Roman, 

In  Rome's  imperial  day, 
Who  heard  a  coward  croaker, 

Before  the  Castle,  say: 
"  They're  safe  in  such  a  fortress; 

There  is  no  way  to  shake  it!  " 
"  On  —  on!  "  exclaimed  the  hero, 

"  /  'lljind  a  way,  or  make  it !  " 


A  BENEDICTS  APPEAL  TO  A  BACHELOR. 


59 


Is  Fame  your  aspiration? 

Her  path  is  steep  and  high  ; 
In  vain  lie  seeks  her  temple, 

Content  to  gaze  and  sigh: 
The  shining  throne  is  waiting, 

But  he  alone  can  take  it 
Who  savs,  with  Roman  firmness, 

'''I'll  find  a  wnij,  or  make  it  !  " 

Is  Learning  your  ambition  ? 

There  is  in  royal  road; 
Alike  tUe  peer  and  peasant 

Must  climb  to  her  abode: 
Who  feels  the  thirst  of  knowledge, 

In  Helicon  may  slake  it, 
If  he  has  still  the  Roman  will 

"  To  find  a  io-ty,  or  make  it  /" 

Are  Riches  worth  the  getting? 

They  must  be  bravely  sought; 
With  wishing  and  with  fretting 

The  boon  cannot  be  bought: 
To  all  the  prize  is  open, 

But  only  lie  can  take  it 
Who  savs,  with  Roman  courage, 

"  I'll  find  a  w<uj)  or  m'ike  it  !  " 

In  Love's  impassioned  warfare 

The  tale  has  ever  been, 
That,  victory  crowns  the  valiant,  — 

The  brave  are  they  who  win: 
Though  strong  is  Beauty's  castle, 

A  lover  still  may  take  it, 
Who  savs,  with  Rom  in  daring, 

"  I'll  find  i.i  W'iy,  or  ni'tke  it  !  " 


A.   BENEDICT'S     APPEAL    TO 
A    BACHELOR. 

"  Double !  double  '.  "  —  SHAKESPEARE. 

I. 
DEAR  CHARLES,   be  persuaded  to 

wed,  — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  yon, 
It's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed. 
And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two! 


So  have  done  with  your  doubt  and 

delaying,  — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  say 
ing 

'  T  is  singular  you  should  be  sin- 
gle! 

ii. 
Don't  say  that  you  have  n't  got 

time, 

That  business  demands  your  at 
tention  ; 
There  's  not  the   least  reason  nor 

rhyme 
In  the  wisest  excuse  you  can 

mention. 
Don't     tell     me     about     "other 

fish,"  — 

Your  duty  is  done  when  you  buy 

'em ; 

And  you  never  will  relish  the  dish, 
Unless  you  've  a  woman  to  fry 
'em! 

in. 

Don't  listen  to  querulous  stories 
By  desperate  damsels  related, 
Who  sneer  at  connubial  glories, 
Because  they  've  known  couples 

mismated. 
Such    people,    if   they  had    their 

pleasure, 

Because  silly  bargains  are  made, 
Would  deem  it  a  rational  measure 
To  lay  an  embargo  on  trade ! 

IV. 

You  may  dream  of  poetical  fame, 
But  your  wishes  may  chance  to 

miscarry; 
The    best   way   of   sending  one's 

name 

To  posterity,  Charles,  is  to  mar 
ry  ! 
And  here  I  am  willing  to  own, 

After  soberly  thinking  upon  it 
I  'd  very  much  rather  be  known 
For  a  beauti  ful  sou,  than  a  sounet ! 


60 


A  BENEDICTS  APPEAL   TO  A  BACHELOR. 


v. 

To  Procrastination  be  deaf,  — 

(A  homily  sent  from  above,) — 
The  scoundrel  's    not  only   "the 
thief 

Of  time,"  but  of  beauty  and  love ! 
0,  delay  not  one  moment  to  win 

A  prize  that  is  truly  worth  win 
ning; 
Celibacy.  Charles,  is  a  sin, 

And  sadly  prolific  of  sinning! 


Then  pray  bid  your  doubting  good 

by, 

And      dismiss      all       fantastic 

alarms. 
I  '11  be  sworn  you  've  a  girl  in  your 

eye 
'T  is  your  duty  to  have  in  your 

arms! 
Some  trim  little  maiden  of  twenty, 

A  beautiful,  azure-eyed  elf, 
With  virtues  and  graces  in  plenty, 
And  no  failing  but  loving  your 
self  ! 

VII. 

Don't   search   for   "an   angel"  a 

minute; 

For  granting  you  win  in  the  se 
quel, 

The  deuce,  after  all,  would  be  in  it, 
With  a  union  so  very  unequal ! 
The  angels,  it  must  be  confessed, 
In  this  world  are  rather  uncom 
mon; 
And  allow  me,  dear  Charles,  to 

suggest 

You  '11  be  better  content  with  a 
woman ! 

VIII. 

I  could  furnish  a  bushel  of  reasons 

For  choosing  a  conjugal  mate: 
It  agrees    with    all  climates  and 

seasons, 

And  gives  you  a  • '  double  es 
tate  " ! 


To  one's  parents  't  is  (gratefully) 

due,  — 

Just  think  what  a  terrible  thing 
'T  would  have  been,    sir,  for  me 

and  for  you, 
If  ours  had  forgotten  the  ring! 


Then  there 's  the  economy  —  clear, 

By  poetical  algebra  shown,  — 
If  your  wife  has  a  grief  or  a  fear, 
One  half,   by  the  law,    is  vour 

own ! 

And  as  to  the  joys  —  by  division, 
They're  nearly  quadrupled,  'tis 

said 

(Though  I  never  could  see  the  ad 
dition 
Quite  plain  in  the  item  of  bread). 


Remember,  I  do  not  pretend 
There's     anything    "perfect" 
about  it, 

But  this  I  '11  aver  to  the  end, 
Life  's  very  imperfect  without  it. 

'T  is  not  that  there  's  "  poetry  "  in 

it, — 
As,  doubtless,  there  may  be  to 

those 

Endowed  with  a  genius  to  win  it,  — 
But  I  '11  warrant  you  excellent 

prose ! 


Then,    Charles,    be   persuaded  to 

wed,  — 

For  a  sensible  fellow  like  yon, 
It 's  high  time  to  think  of  a  bed, 

And  muffins  and  coffee  for  two ; 
So  have  done  with  your  doubt  ami 

delaying.  — 

With  a  soul  so  adapted  to  mingle, 
No  wonder  the  neighbors  are  say 
ing 

'T  is  singular  you  should  be  sin- 
gle! 


DO    YOU   THINK  HE  IS  MARRIED  ? 


fil 


THE   GHOST-PLAYER. 

A    BALLAD. 

TOM  GOODWIN  was  an  actor-man, 
Old  Drury's  pride  and  boast 

In  all  the  light  and  sprite-Iy  parts, 
Especially  the  Ghost. 

Now,  Tom  was  very  fond  of  drink, 

Of  almost  every  sort, 
Comparative  and  positive, 

From  porter  up  to  port. 

But  grog,  like  grief,  is  fatal  stuff 

For  any  man  to  sup; 
For  when  it  fails  to  pull  him  down, 

It 's  sure  to  blow  him  up. 

And  so  it  fared  with  ghostly  Tom, 
Who  day  by  day  was  seen 

A-awelling,  till  (as  lawyers  say) 
He  fairly  lost  his  lean. 

At  length  the  manager  observed 
He  'd  better  leave  his  post, 

And  said  he  played  the  very  deuce 
Whene'er  he  played  the  Ghost. 

'  F  was  only  t'  other  night  he  saw 

A  fellow  swing  his  hat, 
And  heard  him  crv,  "  By  all  the 
gods ! 

The  Ghost  is  getting  fat!  " 

'T  would  never  do,  the  case  was 

plain ; 

His  eyes  he  could  n't  shut; 
Ghosts  should  n't  make  the  people 

laugh, 
And  Tom  was  quite  a  butt. 

Tom's  actor  friends  said  ne'er  a 

word 

To  cheer  his  drooping  heart; 
Though  more  than  one  was  burn 
ing  up 
With  zeal  to  "  take  his  part." 

Tom  arg'ied  very  plausibly; 
He  said  he  did  n't  doubt 


That  Hamlet's  father  drank,  and 

grew, 
In  years,  a  little  stout. 

And  so  't  was  natural,  ho  said, 
And  quite  a  proper  plan, 

To  have  his  spirit  represent 
A  portly  sort  of  man. 

'T  was  all  in  vain:  the  manager 
Said  he  was  not  in  sport, 

And,  like  a  gen'ral,  bade  poor  Tom 
Surrender  up  b\s  forte. 

He  'd  do,  perhaps,  in  heavy  parts, 
Might  answer  for  a  monk, 

Or  porter  to  the  elephant, 
To  carry  round  his  trunk; 

But    in   the   Ghost   his   day   was 
past,  — 

He  'd  never  do  for  that; 
A  Ghost  might  just  as  well  be  dead 

As  plethoric  and  fat ! 

Alas!    next  day  poor    Tom  wa= 
found 

As  stiff  as  any  post; 
For  he  had  lost  his  character, 

And  given  up  the  Ghost ! 


"DO     YOU      THINK      HE     IS 
MARRIED?" 

MADAM,  —  you  are  very  pressing, 
And  I  can't  decline  the  task; 

With  the  slightest  gift  of  guessing. 
You  would  scarcely  need  to  ask. 

Don't  you  see  a  hint  of  marriage 

In  his  sober-sided  face? 
In  his  rather  careless  carriage, 

And  extremely  rapid  pace? 

If  he  's  not  committed  treason, 
Or  some  wicked  action  done, 

Can  you  see  the  faintest  reason 
Why  a  bachelor  should  run? 


62 


A    COLLEGE    REMINISCENCE. 


Why  should  he  be  in  a  flurry? 

But  a  loving  wife  to  greet 
Is  a  circumstance  to  hurry 

The  most  dignified  of  feet. 

When  afar  the  man  has  spied  her, 
If  the  grateful,  happy  elf 

Does  not  haste  to  be  beside  her, 
He  must  be  beside  himself! 

It  is  but  a  trifle,  maybe,  — 
But  observe  his  practised  tone, 

When  he  calms  your  stormy  baby, 
Just  as  if  it  were  his  own ! 

Do  you  think  a  certain  meekness 
You  have  mentioned  in  his  looks 

Is  a  chronic  optic  weakness 

That  has  come  of  reading  books  ? 

Did  you  ever  see  his  vision 
Peering  underneath  a  hood, 

Save  enough  for  recognition, 
As  a  civil  person  should  'i 

Could  a  Capuchin  be  colder 
When  he  glances,  as  he  must, 

At  a  finely  rounded  shoulder, 
Or  a  proudly  swelling  bustV 

Madam,  think  of  every  feature, 
Then  deny  it,  if  you  can, 

He  's  a  fond,  connubial  creature, 
And  a  very  married  man ! 


A  COLLEGE    REMINISCENCE. 

ADDRESSED   TO   THOMAS  B.  THORPE,   ESQ., 
OP   NEW   ORLEANS. 

DEAR  TOM,  have  yon  forgot  the  day 
When,  long  ago,  we  used  to  stray 

Among  the  "  Haddams  "  V 
Where,  in  the  mucky  road,  a  man 
(The   road  was    built  on   Adam's 
plan, 

And  not  McAdam's!) 


Went  down  —  down  —  down,  cne 

stormy  night, 
And     disappeared    from     human 

sight, 

All  save  his  hat,  — 
Which   raised   in   sober    minds   a 

sense 

Of  some  mysterious  Providence 
In  sparing  that  ? 

I  think  't  will  please  you,  Tom,  to 

hear 
The  man  who  in  that  night  of  fear 

Went  down  terrestrial, 
Worked  out  a  passage  like  a  miner, 
And,  pricking  through  somewhere 

in  China, 
Came  up  Olestiiil ! 

Ah!  those  were  memorable  times, 
And    worth     embalming     in    my 
rhymes, 

When,  at  the  summons 
Of  chapel  bell,  we  left  our  sport 
For  lessons  most  uncommon  short, 

Or  shorter  commons ! 

T  mind  me,  Tom,  you  often  <lrew 
Nice     portraits,     and     exceeding 
true  — 

To  your  intention ! 
The  most  impracticable  faces 
Discovered  unsuspected  graces, 

Bv  your  invention. 

On  brainless  heads  the  finest  bumps 
(Erected  by  your  pencil-thumps) 

Were  plainly  seen; 
Your  Yankees  all  were  very  Greek, 
Unchosen     aunts     grew    "choice 
antique," 

And  blues  turned  green ! 

The  swarthy  suddenly  were  fair, 
And  yellow  changed  to  auburn  hair 

Or  sunny  flax; 

And  people  very  thin  and  flat, 
Like  Aldermen  grew  round  and  fat 

On  canvas-backs ! 


EARLY  RISL\v. 


63 


I  well  remember  all  your  art 

To  make  the  best  of  every  part,  — 

I  am  certain  HO  man 
Could  better  coax  a  wrinkle  out, 
Or  elevate  a  lowly  snout, 

Or  <nub  a  Unman! 

Young  gentlemen  with  leaden  eyes 
Stared  wildly  out  on  lowering  skies, 

<^uite  Corsair-fashion  ; 
And  greenish  orbs  got  very  blue, 
And  linsey-woolsey  maidens  grew 

Almost  Circassian! 

And  nnny  an  ancient  maiden  aunt 
As  lean  and  lank  as  John  O'Gaunt, 

Or  even  lanker, 

By  art  transformed  and  newly  drest, 
Could  boast  for  once  as  full  a  chest 

As  —  any  banker  ! 

Ah  !  we  were  jolly  youngsters  then, 
But  now  we  're  sober-sided  men, 
Half  through  life's  journey; 
And  you've  turned  author,   Tom, 

'  I  hear,  — 
And     I  —  you'll    think     it 


very 


queer  — 
Have  turned  attorne! 


Heaven  bless  you,  Tom,  in  house 

and  heart  ! 
(That  we  should  live  so  far  apart 

Is  much  a  pity), 

And  may  you  multiply  your  name, 
A.nd  have  a  very  ''crescent  "  fame, 

Just  like  your  city  ! 


EARLY   RISING. 

"  Gon  bless  the  man  who  first  in- 

vwited  sleep!  " 
So   Sancho    Panza  said,  and  so 

say  I: 
And  bless  him,  also,  that  he  did  n't 

keep 

His  great  discovery  to  himself; 
nor  try 


To  make  it  —  as  the  lucky  fellow 

might  — 
A  close  monoply  by  patent-right! 

Yes;  bless  the  man  who  first  in 
vented  sleep 

(I  really  can't  avoid  the  itera 
tion); 

But   blast   the   man,   with   curses 

loud  and  deep, 

Whate'er  the  rascal's  name,  or 
age,  or  station, 

Who  first  invented,  and  went  round 
advising, 

That      artifical      cut-off,  —  Earlv 
Rising! 

"  Rise  with  the  lark,  and  with  the 

lark  to  bed," 

Observes  some  solemn,  sentimen 
tal  owl ; 

Maxims  like  these  are  very  cheaply 

said ; 

But,  ere  you  make  yourself  a  fool 
or  fowl, 

Pray   just   inquire  about  his   rise 
'and  fall, 

And  whether  larks  have  any  beds 
at  all ! 

The  time   for  honest  folks  to  be 

abed 

Is   in   the  morning,   if  I  reason 
right; 

And  he  who  cannot  keep  his  pre 
cious  bend 

Upon  his  pillow  till  it  's  fairly 
light, 

And   so  enjoy  his   forty  morning 
winks, 

Is   up   to   knavery;    or  else  —  he 
drinks ! 

Thomson,    who    sung    about    the 

"  Seasons,"  said 
It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  rise  in 
season ; 


64 


THE  LADY  ANN. 


But  then  he  said  it  —  lying  —  in 

his  bed, 

At  ten  o'clock,  A.  si.,  — the  very 
reason 

He  wrote  so  charmingly.    The  sim 
ple  fact  is, 

His  preaching  was  n't  sanctioned 
by  his  practice. 

'Tis,  doubtless,  well  to  be  some 
times  awake,  — 
Awake  to  duty,  and  awake  to 
truth, — 

But  when,  alas .'  a  nice  review  we 

take 

Of  our  best  deeds  and  days,  we 
find,  in  sooth, 

The  hours  that  leave  the  slightest 
cause  to  weep 

A.re  those  we  passed  in  childhood 
or  asleep ! 

'T  is  beautiful  to  leave  the  world 

awhile 
For  the  soft  visions  of  the  gentle 

night; 
And  free,  at  last,  from  mortal  care 

or  guile, 
To  live  as  only  in  the  angels' 

sight, 
(n   sleep's  sweet  realm  so  cosily 

shut  in, 
Where,  at  the  worst,  we  only  dream 

of  sin ! 


So  let  us  sleep,  and  give  the  Maker 

praise. 

I  like   the   lad   who,   when  his 
father  thought 

To  clip  his  morning  nap  by  hack 
neyed  phrase 

Of  vagrant  worm  by  early  song 
ster  caught, 

Cried.  "Served  him  right! — it's 
not  at  all  surprising; 

The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  for 
earlv  rising!  " 


THE  LADY  ANN. 

A   BALLAD. 

"  SHE  '11  soon  be  here,  the  Lady 

Ann," 

The  children  cried  in  glee; 
"  She      always      comes     at     four 

o'clock, 
And  now  it 's  striking  three." 

At  stroke  of  four  the  lady  came, 

A  lady  passing  fair; 
And  she  sat  and  gazed  adown  the 
road, 

With  a  long  and  eager  stare. 

"  The  mail !  the  mail !  "  the  idlers 

cried, 

At  sight  of  a  coach-and-four ; 
"  The  mail !  the  mail !  "  and  at  the 

word, 
The  coach  was  at  the  door. 

Up  sprang  in  haste  the  Lady  Ann, 
And  marked  with  anxious  eye 

The  travellers,  who,  one  by  one, 
Were  slowly  passing  by. 

"  Alack!  alack!  "  the  lady  cried, 
"  He  surely  named  to-day; 

He  '11  come  to-morrow,  then,"  she 

sighed, 
And,  turning,  strolled  away. 

"  'T  is    passing     odd,    upon    my 

word," 

The  landlord  now  began  ; 
•'  A  strange  romance !  —  that  wo 
man,  sirs, 
Is  called  the  Lady  Ann. 

"  She  dwells  hard  by  upon  the  hill, 

The  widow  of  Sir  John, 
Who  died   abroad,   come   August 
next, 

Just  twenty  years  agone. 


HOW   THE  MONEY  GOES. 


65 


•  A  hearty  neighbor,  sirs,  was  he, 
A  bold, "true-hearted  man; 

And  a  fonder  pair  were  seldom  seen 
Than  he  and  Lady  Ann. 

•'  They  scarce  had  been  a  twelve 
month  wed, 

When —  ill  betide  the  day!  — 
Sir  John  was  called  to  go  in  haste 

Some  hundred  miles  away. 

"  Ne'er  lovers  in  the  fairy  tales 
A  truet  love  could  boast; 

And  many  wtre  *he  gentle  words 
That  came  and  went  by  post. 

"  A   month   or  more   had  passed 
away, 

When  by  the  post  came  down 
The  joyous  news  that  such  a  day 

Sir  John  would  be  in  town. 

•'  /ull  gleesome  was  the  Lady  Ann 
To  read  the  welcome  word, 

And    promptly   at  the    honr  she 

came, 
To  meet  her  wedded  lord. 

"  Alas!  alas!  he  came  not  back. 

There  only  came  instead 
A  mournful  message  by  the  post^ 

That  good  Sir  John  was  dead! 

"  One  piercing  shriek,  and  Lady 
Ann 

Mad  swooned  upon  the  floor: 
/iood  sirs,  it  was  a  fearful  grief 

That  gentle  lady  bore! 

"  We  raised  her  up ;  her  ebbing  life 

Began  again  to  dawn; 
She  muttered  wildly  to  herself, — 

'T  was  plain  her  wits  were  gone. 

'  A  strange  forgetful  ness  came  o'er 
Her  sad,  bewildered  mind, 

And  to  the  grief  that  drove  her  mad 
Her  memory  was  blind  ! 
6 


"Ah!    since   that   hour  she  little 
wots 

Full  twenty  years  are  fled ! 
She  little  wots,  poor  Lady  Ann! 

Her  wedded  lord  is  dead. 

4i  But    each    returning    day    she 
deems 

The  day  he  fixed  to  come; 
And  ever  at  the  wonted  hour 

She  's  here  to  greet  him  home. 

"  And   when  the  coach  is  at  the 
door, 

She  marks  with  eager  eye 
The  travellers,  sis  one  by  one 

They  're  slowly  passing  by. 

"  '  Alack !  '  she  cries,  in  plaintive 

tone, 

'He  surely  named  to-day! 
He  '11  come  to-morrow,  then,'  she 

sighs, 
And,  turning,  strolls  away." 


HOW   THE  MONEY   GOES. 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Well, 
T  'm  sure  it  is  n't  ha  A!  to  tell; 
It  goes  for  rent,  and  water-rates, 
For   bread   and   butter,   coal  and 

grates, 
Hats,  caps,  and  carpets,  hoops  and 

hose,  — 
And   that  's  the  way  the  Money 

goes! 

How  goes  the  Money  V  —  Nay, 

Don't  everybody  know  the  way? 

It  goes  for  bonnets,  coats,  and 
capes, 

Silks,  satins,  muslins,  velvets, 
crapes, 

Shawls,  ribbons,  furs,  and  furbe 
lows,  — 

And  that 's  the  way  Money  goes ! 


SAINT  JONATHAN. 


How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Sure, 
I  wish  the  ways  were  something 

fewer; 

It  goes  for  wages,  taxes,  debts ; 
It  goes  for  presents,  goes  for  bets, 
For  paint,  pommade,  and  eau  de 

rose,  — 
And  that 's  the  way  the  Money 

goes! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Now, 
1  've  scarce  begun  to  mention  how; 
It  goes  for  laces,  feathers,  rings, 
Toys,    dolls  —  and     other    baby- 
things, 
\Vhips,    whistles,    candies,    bells, 

and  bows,  — 

And  that  's  the  way  the  Money 
goes! 

How  goes  the  Money  ?  —  Come, 

1  know  it  does  n't  go  for  rum  ; 

It   goes   for  schools   and  sabbath 

chimes, 

It  goes  for  charity  —  sometimes; 
For  missions,  and  such  things  as 

those,  — 
And  that  's  the   way  the   Money 

goes! 

How  goes  the  Money?  —  There! 

I  'in  out  of  patience,  I  declare ; 

It  goes  for  plays,  and  diamond- 
pins, 

For  public  alms,  and  private  sins, 

For  hollow  shams,  and  silly 
shows,  — 

And  that 's  the  way  the  Money 
goes! 


SAINT  JONATHAN. 

THEEE  's     many    an     excellent 

Saint,  — 

St.  George,  with  his  dragon  and 
lance; 


St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint; 

St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance', 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul ; 

St.    Andrew,    the   saint   of    the 

Scot ; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mightiest  saint  of  the  lot! 

He  wears  a  most  serious  face, 
Well  worthy  a  martyr's  possess 
ing; 

But  it  is  n't  all  owing  to  grace, 
But  partly  to  thinking  and  guess 
ing; 
In  sooth,  our  American  Saint 

Has  rather  a  secular  bias, 
And  I  never  have  heard  a  eoir^ 

plaint 
Of  his  being  excessively  pious! 

He  's  fond   of  financial   improve 
ment, 

And    is    always    extremely   in 
clined 
To    be    starting    some    practical 

movement 
For    mending    the    morals  and 

mind. 
Do   you  ask  me  what  wonderful 

labors 

ST.  JONATHAN  ever  has  done 
To  rank  with  his  Calendar  neigh 
bors  ? 
Just  listen,  a  moment;  to  one: 

One  day  when  a  flash  in  the  air 
Split   his   meeting-house    fairly 

asunder, 

Quoth   JONATHAN,  "Now,   I   de 
clare, 
They  're  dreadfully  careless  with 

thunder!  " 

So  he  fastened  a  rod  to  the  steeple; 
And   now,    when   the   lightning 

comes  round, 
He   keeps   it  from    building  and 

people, 
By  running  it  into  the  ground ! 


SONG    OS  SARATOGA 


67 


Reflecting,  with  pleasant  emotion. 
On  the  capital  job  he  had  done, 
Quoth  JONATHAN:  "I  have  a  no 
tion 
Improvements   have  barely  be- 

,-'in ; 
If  nothing  's  created  in  vain,  — 

As  ministers  often  inform  us,  — 
The  lightning  that 's  wasted,  'tis 

plain 
Is  really  something  enormous!  " 

While  ciphering  over  the  thiiisr, 

At  length  lie  discovered  a  plan 
I'D  catch  the  Klectrical  King, 

And  make  him  the  servant  of 

man; 
And  no\v,  in  an  orderly  way. 

He  (lies  on  the  fleetest  of  pinions, 
And  carries  the  news  of  the  day 

All  over  his  master's  dominions  ! 

One  morning,  while  taking  a  stroll, 

He  heard  :i  lugubrious  crv,  — 
Like   the    shriek    of   a    suffering 
soul,  — 

In  a  Hospital  standing  near  by; 
Anon,  such  a  terrible  groan 

Saluted  ST.  JONATHAN'S  car 
That  his  bosom  —  which   wasn't 
of  stone  — 

Was  melted  with  pity  to  hear. 

That  night  he  invented  a  charm 

So  potent  that  folks  who  employ 

it, 
In  losing  a  leg  or  an  arm, 

Don't  suffer,  but  rather  enjoy  it! 
A  miracle,  you  must  allow, 

As  good  as  the  best  of  his  broth 
ers,  — 
\nd  blessed  ST.  JONATHAN  now 

[s  patron  of  cripples  and  mothers ! 

There  's      many      an      excellent 

Saint,—' 

St.  George,  with  his  dragon  and 
lance ; 


St.  Patrick,  so  jolly  and  quaint; 

St.  Vitus,  the  saint  of  the  dance; 
St.  Denis,  the  saint  of  the  Gaul; 

St.    Andrew,    the   saint  of   the 

Scot; 
But  JONATHAN,  youngest  of  all, 

Is  the  mig'.itiest  saint  of  the  lot! 


SONG   OF   SARATOGA. 

"PRAY,  what  do  they  do  at  the 

Springs?  " 

The  question  is  easy  to  ask; 
But  to  answer  it  fully,  my  dear, 

Were  rather  a  serious  task. 
And  yet,  in  a  bantering  way, 
As  the  magpie  or  mocking-bird 

sings, 
I  '11  venture  a  bit  of  a  song 

To   tell    what    they   do   at    the 
Springs ! 

JimnrimiS)  my  darling,  they  drink 
The    waters   so   sparkling    and 

clear; 
Though  the  flavor  is  none  of  the 

best, 

And  the  odor  exceedingly  queer; 

But  the,  fluid  is  mingled,  you  know, 

With       wholesome      medicinal 

things, 
So  they  drink,  and  they  drink,  and 

they  drink.  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the 
Springs ! 

Then   with   appetites    keen    as   a 

knife, 

They  hasten  to  breakfast  or  dine 
(The  latter  precisely  at  three, 

The  former  from  seven  till  nine.) 
Ye  sods!  what  a  rustle  and  rush 
When    the  eloquent  dinner-bell 

rinc;s  \ 
Then  they  eat,  and  they  eat,  and 

they  eat,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the 
Springs ! 


68 


TALE    OF  A   DOG. 


Now  they  stroll  in  the  beautiful 
walks, 

Or  loll  in  the  shade  of  the  trees; 
Where  many  a  whisper  is  heard 

That  never  is  told  by  the  breeze; 
And  hands   are  commingled   with 

hands, 

Regardless  of  conjugal  rings; 
And  they  flirt,  and  they  flirt,  and 

th'ey  flirt,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  fit  the 
Springs ! 

The  drawing-rooms  now  are  ablaze, 

And  music  is  shrieking  away; 
Terpsichore  governs  the  hour, 

And  Fashion  was  never  so  gay ! 
An  arm  round  a  tapering  waist, 

How  closely  and  fondly  it  clings ! 
So  they  waltz,  and  they  waltz,  and 
they  waltz,  — 

And  that  's  what  they  do  at  the 
Springs ! 

In  short —  as  it  goes  in  the  world  — 
They  eat,  and  they  drink,  and 

'they  sleep; 
They    talk,   and    they  walk,   and 

they  woo; 
They  sigh,  and  they  laugh,  and 

thev  weep; 
They  read,  and  they  ride,  and  they 

dance; 

(With  other  unspeakable  things;) 
They   pray,    and   they  play,  and 

they  pay,  — 

And  that 's  what  they  do  at  the 
Springs ! 


TALE  OF   A  DOG. 

IN  TWO   PARTS. 
PART  FIRST. 

I 
"  CURSE  on  all  curs!  "  I  heard  a 

cynic  cry: 

A   wider  malediction   than    he 
thought,  — 


For  what 's  a  cynic  V  —  Had  he  cast 

his  eye 

Within  his  dictionary,  he   had 
caught 

This  much  of  learning,  —  the  un 
tutored  elf,  — 

That  he,  unwittingly,  had  cursed 
himself! 


"  Beware  of  dogs,1'  the  great  Apos 
tle  writes; 

A  rather  brief  and  sharp  philip 
pic  sent 

To  the  Philippians.  The  paragraph 

invites 

Some  little  question  as  to  its  in 
tent, 

Among  the   best   expositors;    but 
then 

I  find  they  all  agree  that  "  dogs  " 
meant  men  ! 


Beware  of  men!  a  moralist  might 

say, 
And  women  too;  't  were  but  a 

prudent  hint, 
Well  worth  observing  in  a  general 

way, 
But  having  surely  no  conclusion 

in't. 

( As  saucy  satirists  are  wont  to  rail, ) 
All    men    are    faithles*,    and    all 

women  frail. 


And  so  of  dogs  'twere  wrong  to 

dogmatize 

Without   discrimination  or  de 
gree; 

For  one  may  see,  with  half  a  pair 

of  eyes, 

That    th'ey    have   characters   as 
well  as  we: 

I  hate  the  rascal  who  can  walk  the 
street 

Caning  all  canines  he  may  chance 
to  meet. 


TALE   OF  A  DOG. 


69 


I  had  :i  dog  that  was  not  all  a  dog, 
For   in    his    nature   there    was 
something  human; 

Wisely   lie   looked    as   any   peda 
gogue  ; 

Loved   funerals   and   weddings, 
like  a  woman ; 

With  this  (still  human)  weakness, 
I  confess, 

Of  always  judging  people  by  their 
dress. 


He    hated    beggars,    it   was   very 

clear, 

And  oft  was  seen  to  drive  them 
fro  in  the  door; 

But  that  was   education;  —  for   a 

year. 

Ere  yet  his  puppyhood  was  fairly 
o'er, 

He    lived    with   a   Philanthropist, 
and  caught 

His  practices;  the  precepts  he  for 
got! 

vn. 
Which  was  a  pity ;  yet  the  dog,  I 

grant, 
Led,  on  the  whole,  a  very  worthy 

life. 
To  teach  you  industry,  "  Go  to  the 

ant," 
(I    mean  the   insect,   not   your 

uncle's  wife;) 
But  —  though  the  counsel  sounds 

a  little  rude  — 

Go  to  the  dogs,  for  love  and  grati 
tude. 

PART   SECOND. 

VIII. 

"  Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  the 

poet  cries; 

A  downright  insult  to  the  canine 
race ; 


There  's  not  a  puppy  but  is  far  too 

wise 
To  put  a  pill  or  powder  in  his 

face. 
Perhaps  the  poet  merely  meant  to 

say, 
That  physic,  thrown  to  dogs,  is 

thrown  away,  — 


Which  (as  the  parson  said  about 

the  dice) 
Is  the  best  throw  that  any  man 

can  choose ; 
Take,   if  you  're   ailing,    medical 

advice,  — 
Minus  the  medicine,  —  which, 

of  course,  refuse. 
Drugging,    no    doubt,   occasioned 

Homoaopathy, 
And  all  the  dripping  horrors  of 

Hydropathy. 


At  all  events,  't  is  fitting  to  remark, 
Dogs  spurn  at  drugs;  their  daily 

bark  and  whine 
Are  not  at  all  the  musty  wine  and 

bark 
The  doctors  give  to  patients  in 

decline; 
And  yet  a  dog  who  felt  a  fracture's 

smart 
Once  thanked  a  kind  chirurgeon 

for  his  art. 


I  've  heard  a  story,  and  believe  it 

true, 

About  a  dog  that   chanced  to 
break  his  leg; 

His  master  set  it  and  the  member 

grew 

Once  more  a  sound  and  service 
able  peg; 

And  how  u'  ye   think  the  happy 
dog  exprest 

The  grateful  feelings  of  his  glowing 
breast  V 


70 


THE  JOLLY  MARINER 


'T  was  not  in  words ;  the  customary 

Pa7 
Of  human  debtors  for  a  friendly 

act; 
For  dogs  their  thoughts  can  neither 

sing  nor  say 
E'en  in  "  dog-latin,"  which  (a 

curious  fact) 
Is    spoken    only  —  as    a    classic 

grace  — 
By  grave  Professors  of  the  human 

race! 

XIII. 

No,  'twas  in  deed;  the  very  brief 
est  tail 
Declared  his  deep  emotions  at 

his  cure; 
Short,  but  significant;  —  one  could 

not  fail, 
From  the  mere  wagging  of  his 

cynosure 
("  Surgens  epupjri"),  and  his  ears 

8g°g» 

To  see  the  fellow  was  a  grateful 
dog! 

XIV. 

One  day —  still  mindful  of  his  late 

disaster  — 
He  wandered  off  the  village  to 

explore  ; 
And  brought  another  dog  unto  his 

master, 
Lame  of  a  leg,  as  he  had  been 

before  ; 
As  who  should  say,  "  You  see !  — 

the  dog  is  lame  : 
You  doctored  me,  pray  doctor  him 

the  same  !  " 


So  runs  the  story,  and  you  have  it 

cheap,  — 

Dog-cheap,  as  doubtless  such  a 
tale  should  be; 


The  moral,  surely,  is  n't  hard  to 

reap :  — 

Be  prompt  to  listen  unto  mercy's 
plea; 

The  good  you  get,  diffuse;  it  will 
not  hurt  you 

E'en  from  a  clog  to  learn  a  Chris 
tian  virtue! 


THE  JOLLY  MARINER. 

A  BALLAD. 

IT  was  a  jolly  mariner 

As  ever  hove  a  log  ; 
He  wore  his  trousers  wide  and  free; 

And  always  ate  his  prog, 
And    blessed   his  eyes,   in   sailor- 
wise, 

And  never  shirked  his  grog. 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 

Whilst  walking  up  and  down  :  — 

"The  briny  sea  has  pickled  me, 
And  done  me  very  brown; 

But    here    I    goes,  in    these   here 

clo'es, 
A-cruising  in  the  town!  " 

The  first  of  all  the  curious  things 
That  chanced  bis  eye  to  meet, 

As  this  undaunted  mariner 
Went  sailing  lip  the  street, 

Was,  tripping  with  a  little  cane, 
A  dandy  all  complete! 

He   stopped,  —  that    jolly   mari 
ner,  — 

And  eyed  the  stranger  well:  — 
"What  that  may  be,"  lie  said,  savs 

he, 

"  Is  more  than  I  can  tell ; 
But  ne'er  before,  on  sea  or  shore, 
Was  such  a  heavy  swell !  " 

He  met  a  lady  in  her  hoops. 
And  thus  she  heard  him  hail :  — 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN   GOTHAM. 


71 


•'  Xmv  blow  me  tight!  but  there  's 
:i  sight 

To  manage  in  a  gale  ! 
I  never  saw  so  small  a  craft 

With  such  a  spread  o'  sail  ! 

"  Observe   the    craft    before    and 

1       aft,  — 

She  'd  make  a  pretty  prize!  " 
And  then  in  that  improper  way 

He  spoke  about  his  eyes, 
That  mariner:?  are  wont  to  use 

In  anger  or  surprise. 

He  S'nv  a  plumber  on  a  roof, 
Whd  made  a  mighty  din:  — 

"  Shipmate,    ahoy  !  "     the    rover 

'  cried, 
"  If  makes  a  sailor  grin 

To  sco  you  copper-bottoming 
Your  upper  decks  with  tin!  " 

He  met  a  yellow-bearded  man, 
And  asked  about  the  way  ; 

But  not  a  word  could  lie  make  out 
Of  what  the  chap  would  say, 

Unless  he  meant  to  call  him  names, 
By  screaming,  "  Xix  furstay  !  " 

Up  spoke  this  jolly  mariner, 
And  to  the  man  said  he:  — 

"  I  have  n't  sailed   these   thirty 

years 
Upon  the  stormy  sea, 

To  bear  the  shame  of  such  a  name 
As  I  have  heard  from  thee ! 

''  So  take  them  that !  "  —  and  laid 
him  flat; 

But  soon  the  man  arose, 
And  beat  the  jolly  mariner 

Across  his  jolly  nose, 
Till  he  was  fain,  from  very  pain, 

To  yield  him  to  the  blows. 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner, 

A  wretched  jolly  tar, 
W:shed  he  was  in  a  jolly-boat 

Upon  the  sea  afar,' 


Or.  riding  fast,  before  the  blast, 
Upon  a  single  spar! 

'T  was  then  this  jolly  mariner 

Returned  unto  his  ship, 
And  told  unto  the  wondering  crew 

The  story  of  his  trip, 
With  many  oaths  and  curses,  too, 

Upon  his  wicked  lip ! 

As  hoping — so  this  mariner 
In  fearful  words  harangued  — 

His  timbers  might  be  shivered,  and 
His  le'ward  scuppers  clanged, 

(A  double  curse,  and  vastly  worse 
Than  being  shot  or  hanged!) 

If  ever  he  —  and  here  again 
A  dreadful  oath  he  swore  — 

If  ever  he,  except  at  sea, 
Spoke  any  stranger  more, 

Or  like  a  son  of —  something  — 

went 
A-cruising  on  the  shore! 


TOM    BROWN'S    DAY    IN 
GOTHAM. 

"  Qui  mores  hominum  multorum  Tidit 
et  urbem." 

I'LL  tell  you  a  story  of  THOMAS 
BHOWN.  — 

I  don't  mean  the  poet  of  Shrop 
shire  town ; 

Nor  the  Scotch  Professor  of  wide 
renown : 

But   "Honest   Tom  Brown";   so 

called,  no  doubt, 
Because  with  the  same 
Identical  name, 

A  good  many  fellows  were  roving 
about 

Of  whom  the  sheriff  might  pru 
dently  swear 

That  "  honest  "  with  them  was  a 
non-tst  affair! 


72 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


Now  Tom  was  a  Yankee  of  wealth 
and  worth, 

Who   lived   and   throve  by  tilling 

the  earth; 

For  Tom  had  wrought 
As  a  farmer  ought, 

Who,  doomed  to  toil  by  original 
sinning, 

Began  —  like   Adam  —  at  the  be 
ginning. 

He  ploughed,  he  harrowed,  and  he 
sowed ; 

He   drilled,   he  planted,    and    he 
hoed ; 

He  dug  and  delved,  and  reaped  and 
mowed. 

(I  wish  I  could —  but  I  can't  —  tell 
now 

Whether  he  used  a  subsoil-plough  ; 

Or  whether,  in  sooth,  he  had  ever 
seen 

A  regular  reaping  and  raking  ma 
chine.  ) 

He  took  most  pains 
With  the  nobler  grains 
Of  higher  value,  and  finer  tissues 
Which,  possibly,  one 
Inclined  to  a  pun, 
Would    call  —  like    Harper  —  his 

"  cereal  issues!  " 
With  wheat  his    lands    were   all 

ablaze; 
'T  was  amazing  to  look  at  his  fields 

of  maize; 

And  there  were  places 
That  showed  rye-faces 
As   pleasant  to   see   as   so  many 

Graces. 

And  as  for  hops, 
His  annual  crops 

(So  very  extensive  that,  on  my  soul, 
They  fairly  reached  from  pole  to 

pole ! ) 
Would  beat  the  guess  of  any  old 

fogie, 

Or  —  the  longest  season   at  Sara 
toga  ! 


Whatever  seed  did  most  abound, 
In  the  grand  result  that  Autumn 

found, 

It  was  his  plan, 
Though  a  moderate  man, 
To  be  early  running  it   into   the 

ground ; 
That  is  to  say, 
In  another  way:  — 
Whether  the  seed  was  barlev  or 

hay, 

Large  or  little,  or  green  or  gray,  — 
Provided     only    it    promised     to 

"  pay,"  — 

He  never  chose  to  labor  in  vain 
By    stupidly    going    against    the 

grain, 
But  hastened  away,  without  stay 

or  stop, 

And  carefully  put  it  into  his  crop. 
And  he  raised  tomatoes 
And  lots  of  potatoes, 
More  sorts,  in  sooth,  than  I  could 

tell; 
Turnips,   that   ahvavs  turned  up 

well; 

Celery,  all  that  he  could  sell ; 
Grapes  by  the  bushel,    sour  and 

sweet ; 
Beets,  that  certainly  could  n't  be 

beat ; 
Cabbage  —  like    some      sartorial 

mound ; 
Vines,  that  fairly  cw-cumbered  the 

ground ; 
Some   pumpkins  —  more   than  he 

could  house,  and 

Ten  thousand  pears;  (that 's  twen 
ty  thousand !) 

Fruit  of  all  kinds  and  propagations, 
Baldwins,  Pippins,  and  Carnations, 
And  apples  of  other  appellations. 
To  sum  it  all  up  in  the  briefest 

space, 
As    you     may    suppose,    Brown 

flourished  apace, 

Just  because  he  proceeded,  I  ven 
ture  to  say, 


TOM  BROWN'S   DAY  IN   GOTHAM. 


73 


In  the  null(i-reti'orsum  vestiffi-ov.S 

way  ; 

That  is —  if  you  're  not  University- 
bred  — 

He   took   Crocket's   advice   about 
going  ahead. 

At  all  the  State  Fairs  he  held  a 
fair  station, 

Raised  horses  and   cows  and  his 
own  reputation; 

Made  butter  and  money;    took  a 
.Justice's  niche; 

Grew    wheat,    wool,    and    hemp; 
corn,  cattle,  and  —  rich! 

But  who  would  be  always  a  coun 
try-clown  V 
And  so  Tom  Brown 
Sat  himself  down 

And,  knitting  his  brow  in  a  studi 
ous  frown, 
He  said,  says  he:  — 
It's  plain  to  see, 

And  I  think  Mrs.  B  will  be  apt  to 
agree 

(If  she  don't,  it  's  much  the  same 

to  me), 

That  I,  TOM  BROWN, 
Should  go  to  town  ! 

But  then,  says  he,  what  town  shall 
it  be? 

Boston-town  is  consid'rably  near 
er, 

And  York  is  farther,  and  so  will 
be  dearer, 

But  then,  of  course,  the  sights  will 
lie  queerer; 

Besides  I  'in  told,  you  're  surely 
a  lo^t  'un, 

If  you  once  get  astray  in  the  streets 

of  Boston. 

York  is  right-angled; 
And  Boston,  right-tangled; 

And  both,  I  've  no  doubt,  are  un 
common  new-fangled. 

Ah! — the  "SMITHS,"    I  remem 
ber,  belong  to  York, 

"T  was  ten  years  ago  I  sold  them 
my  pork,) 


Good,  honest  traders  —  I'd  like  to 

know  them  — 
And  so  —  't  is  settled  —  I  '11  go  to 

Gotham ! 

And  so  Tom  Brown 
Sat  himself  down, 

With  many  a  smile  and  never  a 
frown, 

And  rode,  by  rail,  to  that  notable 
town 

Which  I  really  think  well  worthy 
of  mention 

As  being  America's  greatest  inven 
tion  ! 

Indeed,  I  '11  be  bound  that  if  Nature 
and  Art, 

(Though  the  former,  being  older, 
has  gotten  the  start, ) 

In  some   new  Crystal   Palace  of 
suitable  size 

Should   show  their  chefs-d'oeuvre, 
and  contend  for  the  prize 

The   latter  would  prove,  when  it 
came  to  the  scratch, 

Whate'er  you  may  think,  no  con 
temptible  match; 

For  should   old    Mrs.  Nature  en 
deavor  to  stagger  her 

By  presenting,  at  last,  her  majestic 
N  iagara, 

Miss  Art  would  produce  an  equiva 
lent  work 

In  her  great,    overwhelming,  un 
finished  NEW  YOKK! 

And  now  Mr.  Brown 
Was  fairly  in  town, 
In  that  part  of  the  city  they  used 

to  call  "  down," 
Not  far  from  the  spot  of  ancient 

renown 

As  being  the  scene 
Of  the  Bowling  Green, 
A  fountain  that  looked  like  a  huge 

tureen 

Piled  up  with  rocks,  and  a  squirt 
between; 


74 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY  IN  GOTHAM. 


But  the  "  Bowling  "  now  has  gone 
where  they  tally 

"  The  Fall  of  the  Ten,"  in  a  neigh 
boring  alley; 

And  as  to  the  "  Green  "  —  why, 
that  you  will  find 

Whenever  vou  see  the  "  invisible  " 
kind!  — 

And  he  stopped  at  an  Inn  that 's 
known  very  well, 

"  Delmoiiico's  "  once  —  now  "  Ste 
ven's  Hotel  " ; 

(.And,  to  venture  a  pun  which  I 
think  rather  witty. 

There  's  no  better  Inn  in  this  Inn- 
famous  city!) 

And  Mr.  Brown 
Strolled  up  town, 
And  I  'm  going  to  write  his  travels 

down; 
But  if  you  suppose    Tom  Brown 

will  disclose 

The  usual  sins  and  follies  of  those 
Who  leave   rural   regions    to   see 

city-shows,  — 
You  could  n't  well  make 
A  greater  mistake; 
For  Brown  was  a  man  of  excellent 

sense ; 
Could  see  very  well  through  a  hole 

in  a   ence, 
And  was  honest  and  plain,  without 

sham  or  pretence ; 
Of  sharp  city-learning  he  could  n't 

have  boasted, 
But  he   was  n't  the  chap   to    be 

easily  roasted. 
And  here  let  me  say, 
[n  a  very  dogmatic,  oracular  way, 
|  And  I  '11  prove  it,  before  I  have 

done  with  my  lay,) 
Not  only  that  honesty  's  likely  to 

il  pay," 
But  that  one  must  be,  as  a  general 

rule, 
At  least  half  a  knave  to  be  wholly 

a  fool ! 


Of  pocketbook  -  dropping  Tom 
never  had  heard, 

(Or  at  least  if  he  had,  he  'd  forgot 
ten  the  word,) 

And  now  when,  at  length,  the 
occasion  occurred, 

For  that  sort  of  chart'  lie  was  n't 
the  bird. 

The  gentleman  argued  with  elo 
quent  force, 

And  begged  him  to  pocket  the 
money,  of  course ; 

But  Brown,  without  thinking  at 
all  what  he  said, 

Popped  out  the  first  thing  that 
entered  his  head, 

(Which  chanced  to  be  wondrously 
fitting  and  true,) 

"No,  no,  my  dear  Sir,  I'll  be 
burnt  if  I  do!  " 

Two  lively  young  fellows,  of  ele 
gant  mien, 

Amused  him  awhile  with  a  pretty 
m:, chine, — 

An  ivorv  ball,  which  he  never  had 
seen. , 

But  though  the  unsuspecting  stran 
ger 

In  the  "  patent  safe  "  saw  no  patent 
danger, 

He  easily  dodged  the  nefarious  net, 

Because  "he  wasn't  accustomed 
to  bet." 

Ah  !  here,  I  wot, 
Is  exactly  the  spot 
To  make  a  small  fortune  as  easy  as 

not! 
That  man  with  the  watch  —  what 

lungs  he  has  got ! 
It's  "Going  —  the    best  of   that 

elegant  lot  — 
To  close  a  concern,  at  a  desperate 

rate, 
The  jeweller  ruined  as  certain  as 

fate ! 
A  capital  watch  !  —  you  may  se« 

by  the  weight  — 


TOM  BROWN'S  DAY   /A    GOTHAM. 


75 


Worth  one  hundred  dollars  as  easy 

as  eight  — 
Or  half  of  that  sum  to  melt  down 

into  plate — 
(Brown   does  n't   know   "  Peter  "' 

from  Peter  the  Great) 
But  then  I  can't  dwell, 
I'm  ordered  to  sell, 
And  mus'  n't  stand  weeping — just 

look  at  the  shell  — 
I    warrant  the  ticker  to  operate 

.  well  — 
Nine   dollars!  —  it's  hard    to  be 

selling  it  under 
A  couple  of  fifties  —  it 's  cruel,  by 

Thunder! 
Ten  dollars!  —  I  'm   offered  —  the 

inau  who  secures 
This  splendid  —  ten  dollars !  —  say 

twelve,  and  it 's  your*!  " 
"Don't  want  it" — quoth  Brown 

—  ''I  don't  wish  to  buy; 
Fifty  dollars,  I  'm  sure,  one  could 

n't  cail  high  — 
But  to  see  the  man  ruinej .' —  Dear 

Sir,  I  declare  — 
Between  two  or  three  bidders,   it 

does  n't  seem  fair; 
To  knock  it  off  now  were  surely  a 

sin ; 
Just  wait,  my  dear   Sir,  till   the 

people  come  in ! 
Allow    me   to  say,   you   disgrace 

your  position 

As  Sheriff — considering  the  debt 
or's  condition  — 
To  sell  such  a  watch  without  more 

competition !  '' 
And  here  Mr.  Brown 
Gave  a  very  black  frown, 
Stepped  leisurely  out,  and  walked 

_      farther  up  town. 
To  see  him  stray  along  Broadway 
In   the   afternoon  of  a   summer's 

day, 
And  note  what  he  chanced  to  see 

and  say ; 

And  what  people  he  meets 
In  the  narrower  streets, 


Were  a  pregnant  theme  for  a  longer 
lay. 

How  he  marvelled  at  those  geologi 
cal  chaps 

Who  go  poking  about  in  crannies 
and  gaps, 

Those  curious  people  in  tattered 
breeches, 

The  rag-wearing,  rag-picking  sons 
of —  ditches, 

Who  find  in  the  very  nastiest  niches 

A  "  decent  living,"  and  sometimes 
riches ; 

How  he  thought  city  prices  exceed 
ingly  queer, 

The  'busses  too  cheap,  and  the 
hacks  too  dear; 

How  he  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  got 
lost  in  the  question  — 

A  problem  too  hard  for  his  mental 
digestion  — 

Why  —  in  cleaning  the  city,  the 
city  employs 

Such  a  very  small  corps  of  such 
very  small  boys; 

How  he  judges  by  dress,  and  ac 
cordingly  makes. 

By  mixing  up 'classes,  the  drollest 
mistakes. 

How  —  as  if  simple  vanity  ever 
were  vicious, 

Or  women  of  merit  could  be  mere 
tricious,  — 

He  imagines  the  dashing  Fifth- 
Avenue  dames 

The  same  as  the  girls  with  un 
speakable  names! 

An  exceedingly  natural  blunder  in 
sooth, 

But,  I  'in  happy  to  say,  very  far 
from  the  truth ; 

For  e'en  at  the  worst,  whate'er  you 
suppose, 

The  one  sort  of  ladies  can  choose 
their  beaux, 

AVhile,  as  to  the  other  —  but  every 
one  knows 

What  — >  if  'twere  a  secret  —  I 
n't  disclose. 


76 


THE  DEVIL    OF  NAMES. 


And  Mr.  Brown 
Returned  from  town, 
With  a  bran  new  hat,  and  a  muslin 

gown, 
And  he  told  the  tale,  when  the  sun 

was  down, 
How    he    spent    his    eagles,  and 

saved  his  crown; 

How  he  showed  his  pluck  by  re 
sisting  the  claim 
Of  an  impudent  fellow  who  asked 

his  name; 
But  paid  —  as  a  gentleman  ever  is 

willing  — 
At  the  old  Park-Gate,  the  regular 

shilling! 


YE  TAILYOR-MAN. 

A   CONTEMPLATIVE   BALLAD. 

BIGHT  jollie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

As  annie  man  may  be  ; 
And  all  ye  daye  upon  ye  benche 

He  worketh  merrilie. 

And  oft  ye  while  in  pleasante  wise 
He  coileth  up  his  lymbes, 

He  singeth  songs  ye  like  whereof 
Are  not  in  Watts  his  hymns. 

And  yet  he  toileth  all  ye  while 
His  merrie  catches  folle; 

As  true  unto  ye  needle  as 
Ye  needle  to  ye  pole. 

What  cares  yevalinnt  tailyor-man 
For  all  ye  cowarde  feares  V 

Against  ye  scissors  of  ye  Fates 
He  pointes  his  mightie  shears. 

He  heerletb  not  ye  anciente  jests 
That  witiesse  sinners  use; 

What  feareth  ye  bolde  tailyor-man 
Ye  hissinge  of  a  goose? 


He  pulleth  at  ye  busie  threade, 
To  feede  his  lovinge  wife 

And  eke  his  childe;  for  unto  them 
It  is  ye  threade  of  life. 

He   cutteth  well   ye   riche   man's 
coate, 

And  with  unseemlie  pride 
He  sees  ye  little  waistcoate  in 

Ye  cabbage  bye  his  side. 

Meanwhile  ye  tailyor-man  his  wife, 

To  labor  nothinge  loth, 
Sits  bye  with  readie  hande  to  bastc- 

Ye  urchin  and  ye  cloth. 

Full  hnppie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

Yet  is  he  often  tried, 
Lest  he,  from  fnllnesse  of  ye  dimes. 

Wax  wanton  in  his  pride. 

Full  happie  is  ye  tailyor-man, 

And  yet  he  hath  a  foe, 
A  cunninge  enernie  that  none 

So  well  as  tailyors  knowe. 

It  is  ye  slipperie  customer 
Who  goes  his  wicked  waves. 

And   weares    ye  tailyor-man    his 

coate 
But  never,  never  paves! 


THE  DEVIL   OF  NAMES. 

A  LEGEND. 

AT  an    old-fashioned  inn,  with  a 

pendulous  sign, 
Once  graced  with  the  head  of  the 

king  of  the  kine, 
But  innocent  now  of  the  slightest 

"  design," 
Save  calling  low  people  to  spurious 

wine,  — 
While  the  villagers,  drinking,  and 

playing  "all  fours," 


THE  DEVIL    OF  NAMES. 


77 


And  cracking  small  jokes,  with  vo 
ciferous  roars, 

Were  talking  of  horses,  and  hunt 
ing,  and  —  scores 

Of    similar    topics    a    bar-room 
adores, 

But  which  rigid  morality  greatly 
deplores, 

Till  as  they  grew  high  in  their  bac 
chanal  revels, 

They  fell  to  discoursing  of  witches 

-and  devils,  — 
A  neat  single  rap, 
Just  the  ghost  of  a  tap, 

That    would    scarcely  have   wak 
ened  a  flea  from  his  nap, 

Not  at  all  in  its  sound  like  your 
"  Rochester  Knocking," 

(Where   asses  in  herds  are,   diur- 
nally  flocking, ) 

But  twice  as  mysterious,  and  vast 
ly  more  shocking, 

Was  he  ml  at  the  door  by  the  peo 
ple  within, 

Who  stopped  in  a  moment  their 
clamorous  din, 

And  ceased   in  a  trice  from  their 

jokes  and  their  gin  ; 
When  who  should  appear 

But  an  odd-looking  stranger  some 
what  "  in  the  sere," 

(He   seemed   at  the   least   in    his 
sixtieth  year,) 

And  lie  limped  in  a  manner  ex 
ceedingly  queer, 

Wore  breeches  uncommonly  wide 
in  the  rear, 

And  his  nose  was  turned  up  with 
a  comical  sneer, 

And  he  had  in  his  eve  a  most  vil- 
lanous  leer, 

Quite   enough  to   make   any  one 

tremble  with  fear ! 
Whence  he  came, 
And  what  was  his  name, 

And  what  his  purpose  in  ventur 
ing  out, 

And   whether    his    lameness   was 
"gammon  "  or  gout, 


Or  merely  fatigue  from  strolling 

about, 
Were  questions  involved  in  a  great 

deal  of  doubt,  — 
When,  taking  a  chair, 
With  a  sociable  air. 
Like  that  which  your  "Uncle"  's 

accustomed  to  wear, 
Or  a  broker  determined  to  sell  you 

a  share 
In   his   splended    "  New   England 

Gold-mining"  affair, 
He  opened  his  mouth  and  went  on 

to  declare 
That  he  was  a  <hvil !  —  "  The  devil 

you  are!  " 
Cried  one  of  the  guests  assembled 

there. 

With  a  sudden  start,  and  a  fright 
ened  stare! 
"  Nay,    don't   be    alarmed,"    the 

stranger  exclaim-;, 
"  At  the  name  of  the  devil,  —  I'm 

the  Dtril  of  Names .' 
You  Ml  wonder  why 
Such  a  devil  as  I, 
Who  ought,  you  would  say,  to  be 

devilish  shy, 
Should  venture  in  here  with  never 

a  doubt, 

And  let  the  best  of  his  secrets  out; 
But  mind  you,  my  boys, 
It  's  one  of  the  joys 
Of   the    cunningest  woman    and 

craftiest  man, 
To  run  as   quickly  as   ever  they 

can, 

And  put  a  confidante  under  ban 
Not  to  publish  their  favorite  plan! 
And  even  the  de'il 
Will  sometimes  feel 
A  little  of  that  remarkable  zeal, 
And  (when  it  's  safe)  delights  to 

tell 
The    verv  deepest    arcana    of — 

we'll ;  — 
Besides,  my  favor  this  company 

wins, 
For  I  value  next  to  capital  sins 


THE  DEVIL    OF  A  AMES. 


Those  out-and-outers  who  revel  in 

inns  ! 

So,  not  to  delay, 
I  'm  goinw  to  say, 

In  the  very  fullest   and  frankest 
way, 

All  about  my  honors  and  claims, 

Projects   and   plans,   and    objects 
and  aims. 

And  why  I  'm  called  '  The  Devil 

of  Names  ! ' 
I  cheat  by  false  graces, 
And  duplicate  faces, 
And  treacherous  praises, 

And  by  hiding  bad  things  under 

plausible  phrases ! 
I  '11  give  you  a  sample, 
By  way  of  example: 

Here  's   a   bottle    before  me,   will 
suit  to  a  T 

For  a  nice  illustration  :  this  liquor, 
d'  ye  see. 

Is  the  water  of  death,  though  to 
pers  agree 

To  think  it,  and  drink  it,  as  pure 
'  eau  de  vie  ' ; 

1  know  what  it  is,  —  that  's  suf 
ficient  for  me ! 

For   the    blackest    of    sins,    and 
crimes,  and  shames, 

I  find    soft  words    and    innocent 
names. 

The  Hells  devoted  to  Satan's  games 

I  christen   '  Saloons  '  and  '  Halls,' 
and  then, 

By  another   contrivance  of  mine 
again, 

They  're  only  haunted  by  '  sport 
ing  men,'  — 

A  phrase  which  many  a  gamester 
begs, 

In  spite  of  the  saw  that  '  eggs  is 

®O§J 

To  whiten  his  nigritudinous  legs ! 

"  To    debauchees   I   graciously 

grant 
The  favor  to  be  '  a  little  gallant,' 


i    And  soften  vicious  vagrancy  down, 

By  civilly  speaking  of  '  men  about 

town ; ' 

There  's  cheating  and  Iving 
In  selling  and  buying, 

And  all  sorts  of  frauds  and  dis 
honest  exactions, 

I  've  brought   to  the  smallest  of 
moral  infractions, 

Merely  by  naming  them  '  business 
transactions ' ! 

There  's  swindling,  now,  is  vastly 
more  tine 

As    'Banking,' — a   lucky  inven 
tion  of  mine, 

Worth   ten    in   the  old  diabolical 
line ! 


"In  lesser  matters  it  's  all  the 

same, 
I  gain  the  thing  by  yielding  the 

name; 
It  's  really  quite  the  broadest  of 

jokes, 
But,  on  my  honor,  there  's  plentv 

of  folks 
So    uncommonly  fond   of  verbal 

cloaks, 
They  can't  enjoy  the  dinners  they 

eat, 
Court  the  '  muse  of  the  twinkling 

feet,' 

Laugh  or  sing,  or  do  anything  meet 
For   Christian  people,   without  a 

cheat 
To   make   their    happiness    quite 

complete ! 
The  Boston  saints 
Are  fond  of  these  feints  ; 
A  theatre  rouses  the  loudest  com- 

plaints, 
Till  it  's  thoroughly  purged  from 

pestilent  taints, 
By  the  charm  of  a  name   and    a 

pious  Tt  Dtum,  — 
Yet   they   patronize    actors,    an^ 

handsomely  fee  'em! 


YE  PEDAGOGUE. 


79 


Keep  (shade  of  '  the  Howards!  ')  a 

guy  '  Athenaeum,' 
And  have,  above  all,  a  harmless 

'  Museum,' 
Where  folks  who  love  plays  may 

religiously  see  'em! 

"  But  leaving  a  trifle  which  cost 

me  more  trouble 
By  far  than  the  worth  of  so  flimsy 

a  bubble, 
I  come  to  a  matter  which  really 

claims 
The  studious  care  of  the  Devil  of 

Names. 
There  's  '  Charity  '  now  —  " 

But  the  lecture  was  done, 

Like  old  Goody  Morey's,  when 
scarcely  begun ; 

The  devil's  discourse  by  its  serious 
teaching 

Had  set  'em  si-snoring,  like  regular 
preaching! 

One  look  of  disdain  on  the  sleepers 
he  threw, 

As  in  bitter  contempt  of  the  slum 
bering  crew, 

And  the  devil  had  vanished  with 
out  more  ado,  — 

A  trick,  I  suspect,  that  he  seldom 
plays  you ! 


YE  PEDAGOGUE: 

A    BALLAD. 
I. 

EIGHTH  learneM  is  ye  Pedagogue, 
Fulle  apt  to  reade  and  spelle, 

And  eke   to   teache   ye   parts   of 

speeche, 
And  strap  ye  urchins  welle. 


For  as  't  is  meete   to  soake   ye 
feete, 

Ye  ailinge  heade  to  mende, 
Ye  younker's  pate  to  stimulate, 

He  beats  ve  other  ende ! 


Righte  lordlie  is  ye  Pedagogue 
As  anv  turbaned  Turke: 

For    welle    to    rule     ye    District 

Schoole, 
It  is  no  idle  worke. 


For  oft  Rebellion  lurketh  there 
In  breaste  of  secrete  foes, 

Of  malice  fulle,  in  waitc  to  pulle 
Ye  Pedagogue  his  nose! 


Sometimes  he  heares  with  trem 
bling  feares, 
Of  ye  ungodlie  rogue 
On  mischieffe  bent,  with  felle  in 
tent 
To  licke  ye  Pedagogue ! 

VI. 

And  if  ye  Pedagogue  be  smalle, 

When  to  ye  battell  led, 
In  such  a  p'lighte,  God  sende  him 
mighte 

To  breake  ye  rogue  his  heade ! 


Dave  after  daye,  for  little  paye, 
He  teacheth  what  he  can, 

And  bears  ye  yoke,  to  please  ye 

folke," 
And  ye  Committee-man. 

VIII. 

Ah !  many  crosses  hath  he  borne, 
And  many  trials  founde, 

Ye  while  lie  trudged  ye  district 

through, 
And  boarded  rounde  and  romudf ' 


30 


A  RHYMED  EPISTLE 


Ah!    many  a  steake  hath  he  de 
voured, 

That,  by  ye  taste  and  sighte, 
Was  in  disdaine,  't  was  very  plaine, 

Of  Dave  his  patent  riglite ! 

x. 

Fulle  solemn  is  ye  Pedagogue, 
Amonge  ye  noisy  churls, 

Yet  other  while  he  hath  a  smile 
To  give  ye  handsome  girls; 

XI. 

And  one, — ve  fayrest  mayde   of 

all,— 

To  cheere  his  wayninge  life, 
Shall  be,  when  Springe  ye  flowers 

shall  bringe, 
Ye  Pedagogue  his  wife ! 


THE  STAMMERING  WIFE. 

i. 
WHEN,  deeply  in  love  with  Miss 

Emily  Cline, 
I  vowed,  if  the  maiden  would  only 

be  mine, 
I    would    always    endeavor    to 

please  her. 
She  blushed  her  consent,  though 

the  stuttering  lass 
Said  never  a  word,  except "  You  're 

an  ass  — 
An  ass  —  an  ass-iduous  teaser!  " 


But  when  we  were  married  I  found 
to  my  ruth 

The  stammering  lady  had  spoken 

the  truth, 
For  often,  in  obvious  dudgeon, 

She  'd  say,  —  if  I  ventured  to  give 
her  a  jog 

In  the  way  of  reproof,  —  •'  You  're 

a.  dog  —  you  're  a  dog  — 
A  dog — a   dog-matio   curmud 
geon  ! ' ' 


And  once  when  I  said,  "  We  cau 
hardly  afford 

This  extravagant  style,  with  our 

moderate  hoard, 
And  hinted  we  ought  to  be  wiser, 

She  looked,  I  assure  you,  exceed 
ingly  blue, 

And   fretfully  cried,   "  You  're  a 

ju  —  you  're  a  ju  — 
A  very  ju-dicious  adviser!  " 

IV. 

Again,    when    it    happened   that, 
wishing  to  shirk 

Some  rather   unpleasant   and   ar 
duous  work, 
I  begged  her  to  go  to  a  neighbor, 

She  wanted  to  know  why  I  made 
such  a  fuss, 

And    saucily    said,    "  You  're    a 

cus  —  cus  —  cus  — 
You  were  always  ac-cus-tomed 
to  labor !  ' ' 

v. 

Out  of  temper  at  last  with  the  in 
solent  dame, 

And  feeling  that  Madam  was  great 
ly  to  blame 
To  scold  me  instead  of  caressing, 

I  mimicked  her  speech  —  like   a 
churl  as  I  am  — 

And  angrily  said,  "  You're  a  dam 

—  dam  —  dam  — 
A  dam -age  instead  of  a  bless- 


A   RHYMED   EPISTLE. 

TO   THE    EDITOR    OK    THE    KNICK 
ERBOCKER    MAGA/IXE. 

DEAR  KNICK:    While  myself  and 

my  spouse 
Sat   tea -ing  last  evening,   and 

chatting, 

And,  mindful  of  conjugal  vows, 
Were  nicely  agreed  in  combat 
ing, 


A   RHYMED  EPISTLE. 


81 


It   chnncetl  that   myself  and  my 

wife, 
('T  was  Madam  occasioned  the 

pother!) 

t'alling  suddenly  into  a  strife, 
Came  near  tailing  out  with  each 
other! 

In  a  brisk,  miscellaneous  chat, 
Quite  in  tune  with  the  chime  of 

the  tea-things, 

We  were  talking  of  this  and  of  that, 
Just  as  each  of  us  happened  to 

see  tilings, 

When  somelu-vv  or  other  it  chanced, 
(I  don't  quite  remember  the  cue.) 
That   as   talking  and  tea-ing  ad 
vanced, 

We   found  we    were   talking  of 
you ! 

I  think  —  but  perhaps  I  am  wrong, 
Such  a  subtle  old  vjhup  is  Sug 
gestion, 

As  he  forces  each  topic  along 
By  the  trick  of  the  "  previous 

question  "  — 
Some    remarks    on   a    bacchanal 

revel 

Suggested  that  horrible  elf 
With  the  hoof  and  the  horns,  — 

and  the  Devil, 
Excuse  me,  suggested  yourself! 

"Ah!  Knick,  to  be  sure;  by  the 

wav." 
Quoth  Madam,  "  what  sort  of  a 

man 
Do  you  take  him  to  be !  —  nay,  but 

stay, 
And  let  me  guess  him  out  if  I 

can. 
He  's  young,  and  quite  handsome, 

no  doubt; 

Rather  slender,  and  not  over-tall ; 
And  he  loves  a  snug  little  turn-out, 
And  turns  out  '  quite  a  love  '  at 
a  ball!" 


And  then  she  went  on  to  portray 

Such  a  very  delightful  ideal, 
That    a    sensible    stranger  would 

say 

It  really  could  n't  be  real. 
"  And  his  wife,  what  a  lady  must 

situ  be? 
(KNICK  's  married,  that  /  know, 

and  you  know:) 

You  '11  find  her  a  delicate  Hebe, 
And      not     your      magnificent 
Juno! " 

Now  I  am  a  man,  you  must  learn, 

Less    famous   for    beauty   than 

strength, 

And,  for  aught  I  could  ever  dis 
cern, 

Of  rather  superfluous  length. 
In  truth  't  is  but  seldom  one  meets 

Such  a  Titan  in  human  abodes, 
And  when  I  stalk  over  the  streets, 

I  'm  a  perfect  Colossus  of  roads ! 

So  I  frowned  like  a  tragedy-Roman, 
For    in    painting  the   beautiful 

elf 

As  the  form  of  your  lady,  the  wo 
man 

Took  care  to  be  drawing  herself; 
While,  mark  you,  the  picture  she 

drew 

So  deuced  con  amort  and  free, 
That  fanciful  likeness  of  you, 
Was  by  no  means  a  portrait  of 
me! 

"  How  lucky  for  ladies,"  I  hinted, 

"  That  in'our  republican  land 
They  may  prattle,  without  being 

stinted, 

Of   matters  they   don't  under 
stand; 
I  '11  show  yon,  dear  Madam,  that 

1  KXICK  ' 

Is  n't  dapper  nor  daintily  slim, 
But  a  gentleman  decently  thick, 
With  a  manly  extension  of  limb. 


82 


TOWN  AND    COUNTRY. 


"  And  as  to  bis  youth,  —  talk  of 

flowers 

Blooming  gay] y  in  frosty  Decem 
ber! 

I  '11  warrant,  his  juvenile  hours 
Are  things  he  can  scarcely  re 
member! 
Here,  Madam,   quite  plain  to  be 

seen, 
Is   Ihe  chap  you  would  choose 

for  a  lover!  " 

And,  producing  your  own  Maga 
zine, 
I  pointed  elate  to  the  cover! 

"  You  see,  ma'am,  't  is  just  as  I 

said, 

His  locks  are  as  gray  as  a  rat; 
Here,  look  at  the  crown  of  his  head, 
'T  is  bald  as  the  crown  of  mv 

hat!" 
"Nay,  my  dear,"  interrupted  my 

wile, 

Who  began  to  be  casting  about 
To  get  the  last  word  in  the  strife, 
"  'T  is  his  grandfather's  picture, 
no  doubt!  " 


TOWN  AND  COUNTRY. 

AN    ECLOGUE. 
CLOVERTOP. 

I  'VE  thought,  my  Cousin,  it 's  ex 
tremely  queer 

That  you,  who  love  to  spend  your 
August  here, 

Don't   bring,  at   once,   your  wife 
and  children  down, 

And  quit,  for  good,  the  noNy,  dusty 
town. 

SIIILLINGSIDE. 

Ah !  simple  swain,  this  sort  of  life 

may  do 
For  such  a  verdant  Clovertop  as 

you, 


Content  to  vegetate  in  summer  air, 
And  hibernate  in  winter — like  a 
bear! 

CLOVERTOP. 

litre  we  have  butter  pure  as  vir 
gin  gold, 

And  milk  from  cows  that  can  a  tail 
unfold 

With  bovine  pride;  and  new-laid 
eggs,  whose  praise 

Is  sung  by  pullets  with  their  morn 
ing  lays ; 

Trout  from  the  brook ;  good  water 
from  the  well ; 

And  other  blessings  more  than  I 
can  tell ! 


SHILLIN'GSIDE. 

There,    simple    rustic,    we    have 

nightly  plays, 
And  operatic  music,  —  charming 

ways 
Of  spending  time  and  money,  — 

lots  of  fun ; 
The  Central  Park  —  whene'er  they 

get  it  done; 
Barnum's  Museum,  full  of  things 

erratic, 
Terrene,    amphibious,    airy,    and 

aquatic ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  we  have  rosy,  radiant,  romp' 
ing  girls, 

With  lips  of  rubies,  and  with  teeth 
of  pearls; 

I  dare  not  mention  half  their  witch' 
ing  charms; 

But,  ah!  the  roundness  of  their 
milky  arms, 

And,  oh !  what  polished  shoulders 
they  display. 

Bending  o'er  tubs  upon  a  washing- 
day  ! 


TOWN  AND   COUNTRY. 


83 


SHILLING  SIDE. 
There  we  have  Indies  most  superbly 

made 
(By  fine  (trtLites,  who  understand 

their  trade), 
Who   dance   the    German,    flirt   a 

graceful  tan, 
And    speak   such    French    as    no 

1'arisiaii  c;in ; 
Who  sing  much  louder  than  your 

country  thrushes, 
And    ivcar   (tli-mk    1'halon!)    far 

more  brilliant  blushes! 

CLOVEKTOP 
Here,  boastful    Shilling,  we  have 

flowerv  walk*, 
Where   you  may  stroll,  and  hold 

delightful' talks, 
(No  saucy  placard  frowning  as  you 

pass, 
"Ten  dollars'  fine  for  walking  on 

the  grass!  ") 
Dim-lighted  groves,   where   love's 

delicious  words 
Are  breathed  to  music  of  melodious 

birds. 

SHILLINQSIDE. 

There,  silly  (Mover,  dashing  belles 

we  meet, 
Sweeping   with   silken    robes   the 

dusty  street; 
May  gaze  into  their  faces  as  they 

pass, 
Beneath  the  rays  of  ch'inly  burning 

gas, 
Or,  standing  at  a  crossing  when  it 

rains, 
May  see  some  pretty  ankles  for  our 

pains. 

CLOTERTOP. 
litre    you     may    angle    for    the 

speckled  trout, 
Play  him  awhile,  with  gentle  hand, 

about, 
Then,  like  a  sportsman,  pull  the 

fellow  out ! 


SHILLINGSIDE. 
There  too,  is  fishing  quite  as  good, 

I  ween, 
Where   careless,  gaping  gudgeons 

oft  are  seen, 
Rich  as   yon  pasture,  and  almost 

as  green ! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Here  you  may  see  the  meadow's 
grassy  plain, 

Ripe,  luscious  fruits,  and  shocks  of 
golden  grain; 

And  view,  luxuriant  in  a  hundred 
fields, 

The  gorgeous  wealth  that  boun 
teous  Nature  yields ! 

SIIILLINGSIDE. 

There  you  may  see  Trade's  won 
drous  strength  and  pride, 

Where  merchant-navies  throng  on 
every  side, 

And  view,  collected  in  Columbia's 
mart, 

Alike  the  wealth  of  Nature  and  of 
Art! 

CLOVERTOP. 

Cease,  clamorous  cit !  I  love  these 
quiet  nooks, 

Where  one  may  sleep,  or  dawdle 
over  books, 

Or,  if  he  wish  of  gentle  love  to 
dream. 

May  sit  and  muse  by  yonder  bab 
bling  stream  — 

SIIILLTNGSIDE 

Dry  up  your  babbling  stream !  my 

C'lovertop  — 
You  're    getting    garrulous;    it  's 

time  to  stop. 
I  love  the   city,    and    the    city's 

smoke ; 
The  smell  of  gas;  the  dust  of  coal 

and  coke; 
The  sound  of  bells:  the  tramp  of 

hurrying  feet; 


84 


THE  SNAKE  IN  THE  GLASS. 


The  sight  of  pigs  and  Paphians  in 

the  street; 

The   jostling   crowd;    the   never- 
ceasing  noise 
Of  rattling  coaches,  and  vociferous 

boys ; 

The  cry  of  "  Fire!  "  and  the  ex 
citing  scene 
Of  heroes  running  with  their  mad 

"  mersheen  " ; 
Nay,  now  I  think  that  I  could  even 

stand 
The  direful  din  of  Barnum's  brazen 

band, 
So  much  I  long  to  see  the  town 

again! 
Good  by  !  I'm  going  by  the  evening 

train! 
Don't   fail   to  call   whene'er    you 

come  to  town, 
We  Ml  do  the  city,  boy,  and  do  it 

brown ; 
I  've   really  had  a  pleasant  visit 

here, 
And  mean  to  come  again  another 

year. 


THE  FAMILY  MAN. 

I  ONCE  was  a  jolly  young  beau, 
And  knew  how  to  pick  up  a  fan, 

But  I've  done  with  ail  that,  you 

must  know. 
For  now  I  'm  a  family  man ! 

When  a  partner  I  ventured  to  take, 
The  ladies  all  favored  the  plan; 

They  vowed  I  was  certain  to  make 
"  Such  an  excellent  family 
man !  ' ' 

If  I  travel  by  land  or  by  water, 
I  have  charge  of  some  Susan  or 

Ann; 
Mrs.   Brown    is   so  sure  that  her 

daughter 
Is  safe  with  a  family  man! 


The  trunks    and    the   bandboxes 

round  'em 
With    something  like  horror  I 

scan, 

But  though  I  may  mutter,  "  Con 
found  'em!  " 
I  smile  —  like  a  family  man! 

I  once  was  as  gay  as  a  templar, 
But  levity  's  now  under  ban  ; 

Young  people  must  have  an  ex 
emplar, 
And  I  am  a  family  man  ! 

The  club-men  I  meet  in  the  city 
All  treat  me  as  well  as  they  can  ; 

And  only  exclaim,  '"  What  a  pity 
Poor  Tom  is  a  family  man!  " 

I  own  I  am  getting  quite  pensive; 

Ten  children,  from  David  to  Dan, 
Ts  a  family  rather  extensive; 

But  then  —  I  'm  a  family  man ! 


THE  SNAKE  IX  THE  GLASS. 

A   HOMILY. 

COME  listen  awhile  to  me,  my  lad; 

Come  listen  to  me  for  a  spell; 
Let  that  terrible  drum 
For  a  moment  be  dumb. 

For  your  uncle  is  gointr  to  tell 
What  befell 

A  youth  who  loved  liquor  too  well. 

A  clever  young  man  was  he,  my 

lad'; 
And    with    beauty    uncommonly 

blest, 

Ere,  with  brandy  and  wine, 
He  began  to  decline, 
And   behaved  like  a  person  pos 
sessed  : 

I  protest 
The  temperance  plan  is  the  best, 


NE   CREDE   COL  OR  I. 


85 


One  evening  he  went  to  a  tavern, 

my  hid; 

He  went  to  a  tavern  one  night, 
And  drinking  too  much 
Ruin,  brandy,  and  such, 
The  chap  got  exceedingly  ''tight " ; 

And  was  quite 

What  your  aunt  would  entitle  a 
fright. 

The  fellow  fell  into  a  snooze,  my 

lad; 

'T  is  a  horrible  slumber  he  takes; 
He  trembles  with  fear, 
And  acts  very  queer; 
My   eyes !    how    he    shivers    and 
shakes 

When  he  wakes, 

And    raves    about    horrid    great 
snakes ! 

'T  is  a  warning  to  you  and  to  me, 

my  lad; 

A  particular  caution  to  all,  — 
Though  no  one-  can  see 
The  vipers  but  he,  — 
To  hear  the  poor  lunatic  bawl:  — 
"  How  they  crawl !  — 
All  over  the  floor  and  the  wall!  " 

Next  morning  he  took  to  his  bed, 

my  lad ; 

Next  morning  he  took  to  his  bed; 
And  he  never  got  up 
To  dine  or  to  sup, 
Though   properly   physicked   and 
bled; 

And  I  read, 

Xext   dav,    the    poor  fellow   was 
dead ! 

You  've  heard  of  the  snake  in  the 

grass,  my  lad; 

Of  the  viper  concealed  in  the  grass; 
But  now,  you  must  know, 
Man's  deadliest  foe 
Is  a  snake  of  a  different  class; 

Alas!  — 

'T  is  the  viper  that  lurks  in  the 
glass ! 


A  warning  to  you  and  to  me,  my 

lad; 

A  very  imperative  call:  — 
Of  liquor  keep  clear; 
Don't  drink  even  beer, 
If  you  'd  shun  all  occasion  to  fall; 

If  at  all, 
Pray  take  it  uncommonly  small. 

And  if  you  are  partial  to  snakes, 

my  lad 

(A  passion  I  think  rather  low), 
Don't  enter,  to  see  'em. 
The  Devil's  Museum  !  — 
'T  is  very  much  better  to  go 

(That's  so!) 
And  visit  a  regular  show ! 


NE  CREDE  COLORI: 

OR,  TRUST  NOT  TO  APPEARANCES. 

THE  musty  old  maxim  is  wise, 
Although  with  antiquity  hoary  ; 

W- hat  an  excellent  homily  lies  _ 
In  the  motto,  Ne  crede  colon  ! 

A  blustering  minion  of  Mars 
Is  vaunting  his  battles  so  gory; 

You  see  some  equivocal  scars, 
And  mutter,  Ne  crede  colori  ! 

A  fellow  solicits  your  tin 
By  telling  a  runaway  story; 

You  look  at  his  ebony  skin, 
And  think  of,  Ne  crede  colori! 

You  gaze  upon  beauty  that  vies 
With  the  rose  and  the  lily  io 
glory, 

But  certain  "  inscrutable  dyes  " 
Remind  you,  Ne  crede  colon  ! 

There  's  possibly  health  in  the  flush 
That  rivals  the  red  of  Aurora; 

But  brandy-and-water  can  blush. 
And  whisper,  Ne  crede  colori! 


86 


CLARA    TO   CLOE. 


My  story  is  presently  done, 

Like  the  ballad  of  good  Mother 
Morey ; 

But  all  imposition  to  shun, 
Remember,  Ne  crede  colori  ! 


CLARA  TO  CLOE. 

AN   EPISTLE    FROM    A    CITY    LADY 
TO   A   COUNTRY    COUSIN. 

DEAR  CLOE:  —  I'm  deeply  your 

debtor 

(Though  the  mail  was  uncom 
monly  slow) 
For  the  very  agreeable  letter 

You  wrote  me  a  fortnight  ago. 
I  know  you  are  eagerly  waiting 

For  all  that  I  promised  to  write, 
But  my  pen  is  unequal  to  stating 
One 'half  that  my  heart  would 
indite. 

The  weather  is  terribly  torrid ; 

And  writing's  a  serious  task; 
The  new  style  of  bonnet  is  horrid ; 
And   so    is    the    new-fashioned 

basque  ; 
The  former —  but  language  would 

fail 
Were    its    epithets    doubly    as 

strong  — 

The  latter  is  worn  with  a  tail 
Very  ugly  and  tediously  long! 

And   then   as  to  crinoline  —  Gra 
cious! 
If  you   only  could   see   Cousin 

Ruth! 

The  pictures,  for  once,  are  vera 
cious, 

And  editors  utter  the  truth ! 
I  know  you  will  think  it  a  pity; 
And  every  one  makes   such   a 
sneer  of  it ; 


But  there  is  n't  a  saint  ;n  the  city 
Whose  skirts  are  entirely  clear 
of  it! 

And  then  what  a  fortune  cf  stuff 

To  cover  the  skeleton  over !  — 
Charles  says  the  idea  is  enough 

To  frighten  a  sensible  lover: 
And,    pretending  that   we  are   to 
blame 

For  every  financial  declension, 
Swears  husbands  must  soon  do  the 
same, 

If  wives  have  another  "extcn- 


The  town  is  exceedingly  dull, 

And  so  is  the  latest  new  farce ; 
The  parks  are  uncommonly  full, 

But  beaux  are  deplorably  scarce ; 
They're  gone  to  the  "Springs" 

and  the  "  Falls," 
To  exhibit  their  greyhounds  and 

graces, 
And  recruit  at  —  what  Frederick 

calls  — 

The  Brandy-ana- Watering  Pla 
ces! 

Since  my   former  epistle,    which 

carried 

The  news  of  that  curious  plot,  -  - 
Of  Miss  S.  who  ran  off —  and  war 

married; 
Of  Miss  B.  who  ran  off — aw'1 

was  not,  — 

There  is  n't  a  whisper  of  scandal 

To  keep  gentle  ladies  in  humor 

And  Gossip,  the  pleasant  old  Van 

dal, 

Is  dying  for  want  of  a  rumor! 
CLAHA. 

P.  S.  —  But  was  n't  it  funny?  — 
Mrs.  Jones,  at  a  party  last  week, 

(The  lady  so  proud  of  her  money, 
Of  whom  you  have  oft  heard  me 
speak', ) 


CLOE   TO   CLARA. 


87 


Appeared  so  delightfully  stupid, 
When   she   spoke,   through   the 

squeak  of  her  phthisic. 
Of  the  statue  of  Psyche  and  Cupid 
As  "the  statute  of  Cuppid  and 
Physic"!     C. 


CLOE  TO   CLARA. 

A  •  SARATOGA     LETTER. 

DEAR  CLARA:  —  I  wish  you  were 

here : 

The  prettiest  spot  upon  earth ! 
lYith    everything    charming,    my 

dear,  — 
Beaux,    badinage,    music,    and 

mirth! 

Such  rows  of  magnificent  trees, 
Overhanging      such      beautiful 

walks, 
Where  lovers  may  stroll,  if  they 

please, 

And  indulge  in  the  sweetest  of 
talks! 

We  go  every  morning,  like  geese, 
To  drink  at  the  favorite  .Spring; 
Six  tumblers  of  water  apiece 

I?  simply  the  regular  thing; 
For  such  is  its  wonderful  virtue, 
Though    rather    unpleasant    at 

first, 

Xo  quantity  ever  can  hurt  you, 
*       Unless    you   should   happen   to 
burst! 

And  then,  what  a  gossipping  sight ! 

What  talk   about  William  and 

Harry; 
How  Julia  was  spending  last  night ; 

And    why    Miss    Morton    should 

marry ! 
Dear  Clara,  I  've  happened  to  see 

Full  many  a  tea-table  slaughter; 
But,  really,  scandal  with  tea 

Is  nothing  to  scandal  with  water ! 


Apropos  of  the  Spring  —  have  you 

heard 

The  quiz  of  a  gentleman  here 
On  a  pompous  M.  C.  who  averred 
That  the  name  was  remarkably 

queer? 
"The   Spring — to   keep   it  from 

failing  — 
With     wood     is     encompassed 

about, 
And  derives,  from  its  permanent 

railing, 

The    title    of    '  Congress,'     no 
doubt!" 

'T  is  pleasant  to  guess  at  the  rea 
son, 
The     genuine     motive,     which 

brings 

Such  all-sorts  of  folks,  in  the  sea 
son, 
To    stop    a  few    days    at    the 

Springs. 

Some  come  to  partake  of  the  wa 
ters 
(The      sensible,      old-fashioned 

elves); 
Some  come  to    dispose   of   their 

daughters, 

And  some  to  dispose  of — them 
selves  ! 

Some  come  to  exhibit  their  faces 

To  new  and  admiring  beholders; 
Some  come  to  exhibit  their  graces, 
And  some  to  exhibit  their  shoul 
ders; 

Some  come  to  make  people  stare 
At  the  elegant  dresses  they  've 

got; 
Some  to  show  what  a  lady  may 

wear, 

And  some  —  what  a  lady  should 
not ! 

Some  come  to  squander  their  treas 
ure, 

And    some   their  funds   to   im 
prove; 


88 


THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN. 


And  some  for  mere  love  of  pleas 
ure, 
And  some  for  the  pleasure  of 

love ; 
And  some  to  escape  from  the  old, 

And  some  to  see  what  is  new ; 
But  most  —  it  is  plain  to  he  told  — 
Come  here  —  because  other  folks 
do! 

And  that,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason 

Why  /am  enjoying,  to-day, 
What  's  called  "the  height  —  of 

the  season" 

Tn  rather  the  loftiest  way. 
Good  by  —  for  now  I  must  stop  — 
To    Charley's    command    I   re 
sign,  — 

So  I  'm  his  for  the  regular  hop, 

But  ever  most  tenderly  thine, 

CLOE. 


THE   GREAT   MAGICIAN. 

ONCE,  when  a  lad,  it  was  my  Imp 
To  gain  my  mother's   kind  per 
mission 

To  go  and  see  a  foreign  chap 
Who  called  himself  ''  The  Great 

Magician  " ; 
I  recollect  his  wondrous  skill 

In  divers  mystic  conjurations, 
And   how  the  fellow  wrought   at 

will 

The  most  prodigious  transforma 
tions. 

I  recollect  the  nervous  man 

Witjiin  whose  hat  the  great  de 
ceiver 

Broke  eggs,  as  in  a  frying-pan, 
And  took  'em  smoking  from  the 

beaver! 
I  recollect  the  lady's  shawl 

Which  the  magician  rent  asun 
der, 


And  then  restored;   but,  best  ot 

all, 
I  recollect  the  Ribbon-wonder! 

I  mean,  of  course,  the  funny  freak 
In   which    the   wizard,    at    his 
pleasure. 

Spins  lots  of  ribbons  from  his  chock 
(Where  he  had  hid  'ern,  at  his 

leisure). 

Yard  after  yard,  of  every  hue. 
Comes  blazing  out,  and  still  the 

fellow 
Keeps   spinning  ribbons,  red  and 

blue, 

And     black,     and    white,     and 
green,  and  yellow  ! 

I  ne'er  shall  fee  another  show 
To     rank    with     the     immortal 

"  Potter's  ";3 

He  's  dead  and  buried  long  ago. 
And  others  charm  Mir  sons  and 

daughters ; 
Years  —  years    have   fled  — alas! 

how  quirk, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magi 
cian, 
And   yet   I   've  seen  the   Ribbon- 

'  Trick 
In  many  a  curious  repetition! 

Thus,  when  an  author  T  have  read 
Who  much  amazed  the  world  of 

letters 

With  gems  his  fluent  pen  has  shed, 
(All    nicely   pilfered    from    his* 

betters, ) 
Presto!  —  't    is    done!  —  and    all 

complete. 
As  in    my   youth's   enraptured 

vision. 

I  've  seen  again  the  Ribbon-Feat, 
And   thought   about   the    Great 
Magician ! 

So,  when  a  sermon  I  have  heard 
Made    up   of  bits  of    borrowed 
learning, 


Till-:  BLARNEY  STONE. 


89 


Some    cheap    mosaic    which   has 

StilTed 

The  wonder  of  the  unoliscern- 

ing, 

Swift  as  "a  flash  has  memory  then 
h'ecalled  the  ancient  exhibition; 
I  saw  the  l!il)l)on-  Trick  again, 
And   thought  about   the    Great 
Magician ! 

So   when    some   flippant    man-o'- 

jokes. 
Though  in  himself  no  dunce  was 

duller, 

Has  dazzled  all  the  simple  folks 
With  brilliant  jests  of  every  col 
or, 
I   've  whispered   thus  (while  fast 

and  thick 
The  changes  flashed  across  my 

viMon):  — 

"  How  well  he  plays  the  Ribbon- 
Trick  ! 

By  .love!    ho   beats    the    Great 
Magician  " 

I  ne'er  shall  see  another  show 
To    rank    with     the     immortal 

'•  Potter's"; 

He  's  dead  and  buried  long  ago, 
And  others  charm  our  sons  and 

daughters; 
Years,     years     have    fled  —  alas! 

how  quick, 

Since  I  beheld  the  Great  Magi 
cian, 
A.nd  vet  I  've  seen   the   Eibbon- 

'  Trick 
In  many  a  curious  repetition ! 


THE    BLARNEY    STONE. 


IN  Blarney  Castle,  on  a  crumbling 

tower, 

There  lies  a  stone  (above  your 
ready  reach), 


Which  to   the   lips  imparts,  't  is 

said,  the  power 
Of  facile  falsehood,  and  persua 

sive  speech  ; 
And  hence,  of  one  who  talks  in 

such  a  tone, 
The  peasants  say,   "He  "s  kissed 

the  Blarney  Stone!  " 


Thus,  when   I   see   some  flippant 

tourist  swell 
With    secrets  wrested  from   an 

Emperor, 
And  hear  him  vaunt  his  braver}-, 

and  tell 
How  once  he   snubbed  a   Mar 

quis.  I  infer 
The  man  came  back  —  if  but  the 

truth  were  known  — 
By  wav  of  Cork,  and  kissed  the 

Blarney  Stone  ! 


So,  when  I  hear  a  shallow  dandy 

boast 
(In  the  long  ear  that  marks  a 

brother  dunce) 
What   precious  favors  ladies'  lips 

have  lost, 
To  his  advantage,  I  suspect,  at 

once, 
The  fellow  's  lying;  that  the  dog 

alone 
(Enough  for  him!)  has  kissed  the 

Blarney  Stone ! 


When  some  fine  lady,  —  ready  to 

defame 
An  absent  beauty,  with  as  sweet 

a  grace,  — 
With    seeming    rapture    greets  a 

hated  name, 

And  lauds  her  rival  to  her  won 
dering  face ; 


90 


ODE   TO    THi: 


Ci^    Of    WALES. 


E'en  Charity  herself  must  freely 

own 
Some  women,  too,  have  kissed  the 

Blarney  Stone ! 

v. 

When  sleek  attorneys,  whose  se 
ductive  tongues, 
Smooth  with  the  unction  of  a 
golden  fee, 

"  Breathe   forth   huge    falsehoods 

from  capacious  lungs  "  * 
(The  words  are  Juvenal's),  't  is 
plain  to  see 

A  lawyer's   genius    is  n't   all  his 
own; 

The  specious  rogue  has  kissed  the 
Blarney  Stone! 


When  the  false  pastor,  from  his 

fainting  flock 
Withholds   the    Bread   of   Life, 

the  Gospel  news, 
To  give  them  dainty  words,  lest  he 

should  shock 
The  fragile  fabric  of  the  paying 

pews, 
Who   but  must  feel,  the  man,  to 

Grace  unknown, 
Has  kissed,  —  not  Calvary, — but 

the  Blarney  Stone ! 


ODE    TO    THE     PRINCE     OF 
WALES. 

INVITING     HIS     ROYAL.    HIGHNESS 
TO   A   COUNTRY   COTTAGE. 

0  PRINCE  of  Wales ! 
Unless  my  judgment  fails, 
You  've  found  your  recent  travel 
rather  dreary ; 

*  "  Immensa  cavi  spirant  mendacia 
folles." 


I  don't  expect  an  answer  to  the 

query,  — 

But  are  n't  you  getting  weary  ? 
Weary   of  Bells,    and    Balls,    and 

grand  Addresses? 
Weary    of    Military    and     their 

messes  ? 

Weary  of  adulation  and  caresses? 
Weary  of  shouts  from  the  admiring 

masses  ? 
Weary  of  worship  from  the  upper 

'  classes ? 
Weary    of    horses,    may'rs,    and 

asses? 

Of  course  't  was  kindly  meant,  — 
But  don't  you  now  repent 
Your  good  Mamma's  consent 
That  you  should  lit, 
This  side  the  sea, 
The   "British   Lion"   which   you 

represent  ? 
Pray  leave  your  city  courtiers  and 

their  capers, 

And  come  to  us:  we  've  no  picto 
rial  papers; 
And  no  Reporters  to  distort  your 

nose ; 
Or  mark  the  awkward  carriage  of 

your  toes; 
Your  style  of  sneezing,  and  such 

things  as  those; 
Or,    meaner    still,    in   democratic 

spite, 
Measui'e  your  Royal  Highness  by 

your  height ! 


Then  come  to  us ! 
We  're  not  the  sort  of  folk  to  make 

a  fuss, 
E'en    for    the    PRESIDENT  ;     but 

then,  my  boy, 
We  plumply  promise  you  a  special 

JO}')  ' 

To  Princes  rarely  known, 
And  one  you  'il  never  find  about 

a  throne, 
To  wit,  the  bliss  of  being  let  alone  ! 


MOTIIERS-IN-LA  W. 


91 


No  scientific  bores  from  Athenae 
ums; 

Xo  noisy  guns,    nur    tedious    te- 
dtums, 

Shall  vex  your  Royal  Highness  for 
a  minute; 

A  glass  of  lemonade,  with  "  some 
thing  in  it," 

A  fragrant  meerschaum,  with  the 
morning  news, 

Or  sweet  Virginia   "fine-cut,"  if 
you  choose.  — 

These,  and  what  else  your  High 
ness  may  demand 

Of  simple  luxury,  shall  he  at  hand, 

And  at  your  royal  service.     Come  ! 

O  come  where  you  mav  gain 

(What  advertisers  oft  nave  sought 

in  vain) 
"  The  comforts  of  a  home  "  ! 

Come,     Prince    of     Wales!      we 
greatly  need 

Your  royal  presence,  Sir,  —  we  do 
indeed : 

For  why  V    we  have  a  pretty  ham 
let  here, 

But  then,  you  see,  't  is  equally  as 
clear 

(Your       Highness       understands 
Shakesperian  hints) 

A  Hamlet  is  n't  much  without  a 
Prince  ! 


MOTHERS-IX-LAW. 

IF  you  ever  should  mam',  said 
Major  McGarth, 

While  smoking  a  pipe  by  my 
bachelor-hearth, 

If  you  ever  should  wed,  —  and  I 
would  n't  employ 

A  word  to  prevent  it,  my  broth  of 
a  hoy,  — 

Remember  that  wedlock  's  a  com 
pany  where 


The  parties,  quite  often,  are  more 
than  a  pair; 

'T  is  a  lott'ry  in  which  you  are 
certain  to  draw 

A  wife,  and,  most  likely,  a  mother- 
in-law  ! 

What  the  latter  may  be  all  con 
jecture  defies: 

She  is  never  a  blank;  she  is  seldom 
a  prize; 

Sometimes  she  is  silly;  sometimes 
she  is  bold; 

Sometimes — rather  worse! — she  's 
a  virulent  scold. 

You  dreamed  of  an  angel  to  gladden 
your  home, 

And  with  her  —  God  help  you !  — • 
a  harpy  has  come; 

You  fished  for  a  wife  without  fail 
ing  or  flaw, 

And  find  you  have  netted  —  a 
mother-in-law ! 

"  Dear  Anna,"  she  says,  "  as  you 
clearly  may  see, 

Has  always  been  used  to  depending 
on  me; 

Poor  child!  though  the  gentlest 
that  ever  was  known, 

She  could  never  be  trusted  a  mo 
ment  alone; 

Such  sensitive  nerves,  and  such 
delicate  lungs  ! " 

Cries  the  stoutest  of  dames  with 
the  longest  of  tongues. 

"Like  mother  like  child;  you  re 
member  the  saw; 

I  'in  weakly  myself,"  says  your 
mother-in-law ! 

But  your  mother-in-law,  you  dis 
cover  erelong, 

Though  feeble  in  body,  in  temper 
is  strong; 

And  so  you  surrender,  —  what  else 
can  you  do? 


92 


NIL  A  DM  IRAKI. 


She  governs  your  wife,  and  your 
servant?,  and  you ; 

And  calls  you  a  savage,  the 
coarsest  of  brutes, 

For  trampling  the  carpet  with  mud 
on  your  boots; 

And  vows  she  committed  a  stupid 
"  fox-paw" 

In  rashly  becoming  your  mother- 
in-law  ! 

And  so,  said  the  Major,  pray,  let 

me  advise 
The  carefullest  use  of  your  ears 

and  your  eyes ; 
And,  ceteris  pai-ibus,  take  you  a 

maid 

(Of  widows,  my  boy,  I  am  some 
thing  afraid!) 
Who  gives   you — the  darling!  — 

her  hand  and  her  love, 
With  a  sigh  for  her  "dear  sainted 

mother  above!  " 
From  which  the  conclusion  you 

safelv  may  draw, 
She   will   never    appear  as    your 

mother-in-law ! 


NIL  ADMIRARI. 


WITEN  Horace  in  Vendusian  groves 
Was  scribbling   wit  or  sipping 

"  Massic," 
Or  singing  those  delicious  loves 

Which  after  ages  reckon  classic, 
He  wrote  one  day  —  't  was  no  va 
gary  — 
These  famous  words :  —  Nil  admi- 


"  Wonder  at  nothing!"  said  the 

bard; 

A  kingdom's  fall,  a  nation's  ris 
ing, 


A  lucky  or  a  losing  card, 

Are  really  not  at  all  surprising; 
However  men  or  manners  vary, 
Keep  cool  and  calm :  Nil  admirari! 


If  kindness  meet  a  cold  return  ; 
If  friendship  prove  a  dear  delu 
sion  ; 
If  love,  neglected,  cease  to  burn, 

Or  die  untimely  of  profusion,  — 
Such  lessons  well  may  make  us 

wary, 
But  need  n't  shock ;  Nil  admirari  ! 


Does  disappointment  follow  gain? 
Or  wealth  elude  the  keen  pur 
suer  ? 
Does    pleasure    end   in   poignant 

pain  V 
Does    fame   disgust  the    lucky 

wooer, 

Or  haply  prove  perverselv  chary? 
'T  was  ever  thus ;  Nil  admiran  I 


Does  January  wed  with  May, 
Or  ugliness  consort  with  beauty  ? 

Does  riety  forgot  to  pray  V 

And.  heedless  of  connubial  duty, 

Leave   faithful  Ann    for    wanton 
Mary  ? 

'T  is  the  old  tale;  Nil  admirari ! 


Ah !    when    the    happy    day    we 

reach 

When    promisors   are  ne'er  de 
ceivers  ; 

When  parsons  practise  what  they 

preach, 

And  seeming  saints  are  all  be 
lievers, 

Then  the  old  maxirn  you  may  vary, 

And  say  no  more,  Nil  admirari ! 


CARMEN  L^ETUM. 


93 


THE  COQUETTE. 

A   POKTKAIT. 

'"  You  're    clever    at    drawing,    I 

own," 

Said  my  beautiful  cousin  Lisette, 
As  we  sat  by  the  window  alone, 
"  But  say,  can  you  paint  a  Co 
quette?" 

"  She  's  painted  already,"  quoth  I; 
•'  Nay,  nay!  "  said  the  laughing 

Lisette, 
"  Now  none  of  your  joking,  —  but 

try 

And   paint  me  a  thorough  Co 
quette." 

"  Well,  cousin,"  at  once  I  began 
In  the  ear  of  the  eager  Lisette, 

"  I  '11  paint  you  as  well  as  I  can 
That    wonderful    thing,    a    Co 
quette. 

"  She  wears  a  most  beautiful  face," 
("Of  course!"  said  the  pretty 
Lisette.) 

"  And  is  n't  deficient  in  grace, 
Or  else  she  were  not  a  Coquette. 

"  And  then  she  is  daintily  made  " 
(A  smile  from  the  dainty  Lisette) 

"  By  people  expert  in  the  trade 
Of  forming  a  proper  Coquette. 

"  She  's  the  winningest  ways  with 

the  beaux," 
( "  Go  on !  "  —  said  the  winning 

Lisette,) 
"  But  there  is  n't  a  man  of  them 

knows 
The  mind  of  the  fickle  Coquette ! 

:l  She  knows  how  to  weep  and  to 

sigh," 
(A  sigh  from  the  tender  Lisette,)   I 


"  But   her  weeping  is  all  in  my 

eye,  — 

Not   that   of    the   cunning    Co 
quette  ! 

"  In  short,  she 's  a  creature  of  art," 
("Olmsh!"  said  the  frowning 

Lisette,) 
"  With    merely    the    ghost    of   a 

heart,  — 
Enough  for  a  thorough  Coquette. 

"  And  yet  I  could  easily  prove" 
(•'Now  don't!"  said  the  angry 

Lisette,) 

"  The  lady  is  always  in  love,  — 
In  love  with  herself,  —  the  Co 
quette  ! 

"  There,  —  do   not    be    angry!  — 

you  know, 

My  dear  little  cousin  Lisette, 
You  told  me  a  moment  ago 

To  paint  you  —  a  thorough  Co 
quette!  " 


CARMEN  L.ETUM: 

RECITED,  AFTER  DINNER,  BEFORE  THE 
ALUMNI  OF  MIDDLEBORY  COLLEGE,  AT 
THEIR  SEMI-CENTENNIAL  CELEBIIATIO X , 
AUGUST  '22,  I860. 

A  RIGHT  loving  welcome,  my  true- 
hearted  Brothers, 

Who  have  come  out  to  visit  the 
kindest  of  mothers; 

You  may  think  as  you  will,  but 
there  is  n't  a  doubt 

Alma  Mater  rejoices,  and  knows 
you  are  out ! 

Rejoices  to  see  you  in  gratitude 
here, 


94 


CARMEN  L^ETUM. 


Returning    to    honor    her  fiftieth 

year. 
And  while   the   good   lady   is    so 

overcome 
With    maternal    emotion,    she  's 

stricken  quite  dumb, 
(A  thing.    I    mnst    own,    that   's 

enough  to  perplex 
A  shallow   observer,  who  thinks 

that  the  sex, 
Whatever  may  be   their   internal 

revealings, 

Can   never   be    pained   with    un 
speakable  feelings.) 
Indulge   me,    dear    Brothers,    nor 

think  me  ill-bred, 
If  I  venture  a  moment  to  speak  in 

her  stead. 
I,  who,  though  the  humblest  and 

homeliest  one, 
Feel  the  natural  pride  of  a  dutiful 

son, 
And  esteem  it  to-day  the  profound- 

est  of  joys, 
That,  not  less  than  yourselves,  I 

am  one  of  the  boys ! 


First  as  to  her  health,  which, 
I  'm  sorry  to  say, 

Has  been  better,  no  doubt,  than 
she  finds  it  to-day; 

Vet  when  you  reflect  she  's  been 
somewhat  neglected, 

She  's  really  as  well  as  could  well 
be  expected; 

And,  spite  of  ill-treatment  and 
permature  fears, 

Is  a  hearty  old  lady,  for  one  of  her 
years. 

Indeed,  I  must  tell  you  a  bit  of  a 
tale, 

To  show  you  she  's  feeling  re 
markably  hale; 

How  she  turned  up  her  nose,  but 
a  short  time  ago, 

At  a  rather  good-looking  importu 
nate  beau, 


And  how  she  refused,  witn  a 
princess-like  carriage 

"  A  very  respectable  offer  of  mar 
riage."  * 

You  see,  my  dear  Brothers,  a 
neighboring  College 

Who  values  himself  on  the  depth 
of  his  knowledge, 

With  a  prayer  for  her  love,  and  an 
eye  to  her  land, 

Walked  up  to  the  lady  and  offered 
his  hand. 

For  a  minute  or  so  she  was  all  in 
a  flutter, 

And  had  not  a  word  she  could 
audibly  utter; 

For  she  felt  in  her  bosom,  beyond 
all  concealing, 

A  kind  of  a  —  sort  of  a  —  widow- 
like  feeling! 

But  recovering  soon  from  the  deli 
cate  shock, 

She  held  up  her  hend  like  an  old- 
fashioned  clock, 

And,  with  proper  composure,  went 
on  and  defined, 

In  suitable  phrases,  the  state  of  her 
mind ; 

Said  she  would  n't  mind  changing 
her  single  condition, 

Could  she  fairly  expect  to  improve 
her  position ; 

And  thus,  by  some  words  of  equiv 
ocal  scope, 

Gave  her  lover  decided  "permis 
sion  to  hope." 

It  were  idle  to  talk  of  the  billing 
and  cooing 

The  amorous  gentleman  used  in 
his  wooing; 

*  Allusion  is  had,  in  this  and  subse 
quent  lines,  to  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  unite  Middlebury  Collepe  with  the 
University  of  Vermont.  The  affair  is 
here  treated  with  the  license  of  a  din 
ner  poem,  and  with  the  partiality  per 
mitted  to  the  occasion. 


CARMEN  L^ETUM. 


Or  how  she  replied  to  his  pressing 

advances, 
His   oscular  touches    and    ocular 

glances ;  — 
'T  is  enough  that  his  courtship,  by 

all  that  is  known, 
Witf!  quite  the  old  storv,  and  much 

like  your  own  \ 


Thus  the  matter  went  on,  till  the 

•    lady  found  out, 
One  very  tine  day,  what  the  rogue 

was  about,  — 
That  all  that  he  wanted  was  merely 

that  power 
By  marital  license  to  pocket  her 

dower, 
And  then  to  discard  her  in  sorrow 

and  shame, 
Bereaved  of   her  home  and    her 

name  and  her  fame. 
In  deep  indignation  she  turned  on 

her  heel, 
With   such  withering  scorn   as   a 

lady  might  feel 
For  a  knave,  who,  in  stealing  her 

miniature  case, 
Should  take  the  gold  setting,  and 

leave  her  the  face  \ 
But  soon  growing    calm    as   the 

breast  of  the  deep, 
When  the  breezes  are  hushed  that 

the  waters  may  sleep, 
She  sat  in  her  chair,  like  a  di uni 
fied  elf, 
And  thus    while   I   listened,    she 

talked  to  herself :  — 
"Nay,  'twas  idle  to  think  of  so 

foolish  a  plan 

As  a  match  with  this  pert  Univer 
sity-man, 
For  I  have  n't  a  chick  but  would 

redden  with  shame 
At  the  very  idea  of  my  losing  my 

name; 
And  would  feel  that  no  sorrow  so 

heavy  could  come 


To  his  mother  as  losing  her  excel 
lent  home. 

'T  is  true  I  am  weak,  but  my  chil 
dren  are  strong, 

And  won't  see  me  sutler  privation 
or  wrong; 

So,  away  with  the  dream  of  con 
nubial  joys, 

I  '11  stick  to  the  homestead,  and 
look  to  the  boys!  " 


How  joyous,  my  friends,  is  the 
cordial  greeting 

Which  gladdens  the  heart  at  a 
family  meeting; 

When  brothers  assemble  at  Friend 
ship's  old  shrine 

To  look  at  the  present,  and  talk  of 
"  Lang  Syne  "  ! 

Ah !  well  I  remember  the  halcyon 
years, 

Too  earnest  for  laughter,  too  pleas 
ant  for  tears, 

When  life  was  a  boon  in  yon  clas 
sical  court, 

Though  lessons  were  long,  and 
though  commons  were  short ! 

Ah !  well  I  remember  those  excel 
lent  men, 

Professors  and  tutors,  who  reigned 
o'er  us  then; 

Who  guided  our  feet  over  Science's 
bogs, 

And  led  us  quite  safe  through  Phi 
losophy's  fogs. 

Ah!  well  I  remember  the  Presi 
dent's  *  face, 

As  he  sat  at  the  lecture  with  dig- 
'  nified  grace, 

And  neatly  unfolded  the  mystical 
themes 

Of  various  deep  metaphysical 
schemes,  — 

How  he  brightened  the  path  of  his 
studious  flock, 

*  Joshua  Bates,  D.  D. 


CARMEN  L.ETUM. 


As  he  gave  them  a  key  to  that 

wonderful  Locke ; 
How  he  taught  us  to  feel   it  was 

fatal  indeed 
With   too  much   reliance   to  lean 

upon  Jit  id ; 
That    Stewart   was    sounder,    but 

wrong  at  the  last, 
From  following  his  master  a  little 

too  fast, — 
Then    closed  the   discourse   in   a 

scholarly  tone, 
With  a  clear  and  intelligent  creed 

of  his  own. 
That  the  man  had  his  faults  it  were 

safe  to  infer,  — 
Though    I   really  don't    recollect 

what  they  were,  — 
I  barely  remember  this  one  little 

truth, 
When  his  case  was  discussed  by 

the  critical  youth, 
The  Seniors  and   Freshmen  were 

sure  to  divide, 
And  the  former  were   all  on  the 

President's  side ! 


And  well  I  remember  another, 

whose  praise 
Were  a  suitable   theme  for  more 

elegant  lays ; 
But  even  in  numbers  ungainly  and 

rough, 
I  must  mention  the  name  of  our 

glorious  HOUGH  ! 
Who  does  not  remember?  for  who 

can  forget, 
Till  Memory's   star  shall  forever 

have  set, 
How  he  sat  in  his  place  unaffected 

and  bold, 
And  taught  us  more  truths   than 

the  lesson  had  told  ? 
Gave  a  lift  to  ''Old  NOL,"  for  the 

love  of  the  right, 
And  a  slap  at   the   Stuarts,  with 

cordial  spite; 


And,  quite  in  the  teeth  of  conven, 
tional  rules, 

Hurled  his  adjectives  down  upon 
tyrants  and  fools  V 

But,  chief,  he  excelled  in  his  prop 
er  vocation 

Of  giving  the  classics  a  classic 
translation; 

In  Latin  and  Greek  he  was  almost 
oracular, 

And,  what  's  more  to  his  praise, 
understood  the  vernacular. 

0,  't  was  pleasant  to  hear  him 
make  English  of  Greek. 

Till  yon  felt  that  no  tongue  was 
inherently  weak; 

While  Horace  in  Latin  seemed 
fjiiite  understated, 

And  rejoiced  like  old  Enoch  in  be 
ing  translated! 


And  others  there  were  —  but  the 

hour  would  fail, 
To  brins;  them  all  up  in  historic 

detail; 
And    yet   I  would   give,    ere   the 

moment  has  fled, 
A  sigh  for  the  absent,  a  tear  for 

tlie  dead. 
There 's  not  one  of  them  all,  where- 

e'er  lie  may  rove, 
In  the  shadows  of  earth,   or   tho 

glories  above, 
In  the  home  of  his   birth,  or   in 

lands  far  away, 

But  comes  back  to  be  kindly  re 
membered  to-day ! 


One  little  word  more,  and   my 

duty  is  done;  — 
A  health  to  our  Mother,  from  each 

mother's  son! 
Unfading  in  beauty,  increasing  in 

strength, 
May  she  flourish  in  health  through 

the  century's  length; 


P  OH  T-P  RAN  DIAL    VERSES. 


97 


And  next  when  her  children  come 

round  her  to  boast, 
May    Esto  /terpttuM  theii   be   the 

toast ! 


MY   BOYHOOD. 

An  me !  those  joyousdaysareeone ! 

1  little  dreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 

How  fleet  inn;  were  the  hours! 
For,    lest   he   break   the   pleasing 

spell, 
Time    bears  for  youth   a   muffled 

bell, 
And  hides  his  face  in  flowers! 

Ah!  well  I  mind  me  of  the  days, 
Still  bright  in  memory's  flattering 

rays, 

When  all  was  fair  and  new; 
When  knaves  were  only  found  in 

And  friends  were  known  by  friend 
ly  looks, 
And  love  was  always  true! 

While     yet     of     sin     I     scarcely 

dreamed, 
And     everything     was     what      it 

seemed, 

And  all  too  bright  for  choice; 
When  fays    were    wont   to   guard 

my  sleep. 
And  Crutoe  still  could  make   me 

weep, 
And  Santa  Claus,  rejoice! 

When  Heaven  was  pictured  to  my 

thought 
(In  spite  of  all  my  mother  taught 

<  )f  happiness  serene) 
A  theatre  of  boyish  plays,  — 
One  glorious  round  of  holidays, 

Without  a  school  between  ! 

Ah  me  !  those  joyous  days  are  gone ; 
1  little  dreamt,  till  they  were  flown, 
How  fleeting  were  the  hours! 
7 


For,   lest  lie  break  the  pleasing 

spell, 
Time  bears  for  youth   a   muffled 

bell, 
And  hides  his  face  in  flowers ! 


POST-PRANDIAL   VERSES. 


UPSILON    FRATERNITY,    IN   BOSTON ,  JULY 

21,  1853. 

DEAR   Brothers,    who   sit   at  this 

bountiful  board, 
With  excellent  viands  so  lavishly 

stored 
That,  in  newspaper  phrase,  'twould 

undoubtedly  yrintn, 
If  groaning  were  but  a  convivial 

tone, 
Which    it    is  n't,  —  and  therefore. 

by  sympathy  led, 
The   table,'  no  doubt,  is  rejoicink 

instead. 
Dear    Brothers,    I    rise,  —  and    it 

won't  be  surprising 
If  you  find  me,  like  bread,  all  the 

better  for  rising,  — 
I   rise   to  express   my  exceeding 

delight 
In  our  cordial  reunion  this  glorious 

night! 

Success  to  "  Psi  UPSILON!" — 
Beautiful  name!  — 

To  the  eye  and  the  ear  it  is  pleasant 
the  same ; 

Many  thanks  to  old  Cadmus  who 
made  us  his  debtors, 

By  inventing,  one  day,  those  capi 
tal  letters 

Which  still,  from  the  heart,  we 
shall  know  how  to  speak 

When  we  Ve  fairly  forgotten  the 
rest  of  our  Greek) 


98 


THE  SILVER    WEDDING. 


To  be  open  and  honest  in  all  that 

you  do; 
To  every  high  trust  to  be  faitLful 

and  true; 
In  aught  that  concerns  morality's 

scheme, 
To  be  more  ambitious  to  be  than 

to  seem  ; 
To  cultivate  honor  as   higher  in 

worth 
Than  favor  of  fortune,  or  genius, 

or  birth; 
By  every  endeavor  to  render  your 

lives 
As   spotless   and   fair  as    your  — 

possible  wives; 

To  treat  with  respect  all  the  inno 
cent  rules 

That  keep  us  at  peace  with  socie 
ty's  fools; 
But  to  face  every  canon  that  e'er 

was  designed 
To  batter  a  town  or  beleaguer  a 

mind, 
Ere  you  yield  to  the  Moloch  that 

Fashion  has  reared 
One  jot  of  your  freedom,  or  hair 

of  your  beard,  — 
All  this,  and  much  more,  I  might 

venture  to  teach, 
Had    I    only   a    ''call  ".-and    a 

"  license  to  preach"  ; 
But  since  I  have  not,  to  my  mod 
esty  true, 
I  '11  lay  it  all   by,  as   a  layman 

should  do, 
And  drop  a  few  lines,  tipt  with 

Momus's  flies, 
To  angle  for  shiners  —  that  lurk  in 

your  eyes ! 


May  you  ne'er  get  in  love  or  in 

debt  with  a  doubt 
As  to  whether  or  no  you  will  ever 

get  out: 
May  you  ne'er  have  a  mistress  who 

plays  the  coquette, 


Or  a  neighbor   who   blows   on  a 

cracked  clarionet; 
May  you  learn  the  first  use  of  a 

lock  on  your  door, 
And  ne'er,  like  Adonis,  be  killed 

by  a  bore ; 
Shun   canting  and    canters    with 

resolute  force; 
(A  "canter"  is  shocking,  except 

in  a  horse;) 
At  jovial  parties  mind  what  you 

are  at, 
Beware  of  your  head  and  take  care 

of  your  hat, 
Lest  you  find  that. a  favorite  son 

of  your  mother 
Has  a  brick  in  the  one  and  an  ache 

in  the  other; 
May  you  never.  I  pray,  to  worry 

your  life, 
Have  a  weak-minded  friend,  or  a 

strong-minded  wife; 
A  tailor  distrustful,  or  partner  sus 
picious; 
A  dog  that  is  rabid,  or  nag  that  is 

vicious; 
Above  all  —  the  chief  blessing  the 

gods  can  impart  — 
May  you  keep  a  clear  head  and  a 

generous  heart; 
Remember  't  is  blessed  to  give  and 

forgive ; 
Live  chiefly  to  love,  and  love  while 

you  live; 

And  dying,  when  life's  little  jour 
ney  is  done, 

May  your  last,   fondest  sigh,    be 
"PSI  UPSILON  ! 


THE   SILVER   WEDDING. 

TO   JOHN  NEWMAN,    D.  D. 

'A  WEDDING  of    Silver!  —  and 

what  shall  we  do?  " 
I  said  in  response  to  my  excellent 
spouse, 


LOOKING   OUT  INTO   THE  NIGHT. 


99 


Who  hinted,  this  morning,  we  ought 

to  renew, 

According  to  custom,  our  con 
jugal  vows. 

"  I  would  n't  much  mind  it,  now  — 

if — and  suppose  — 
The   bride    were  a  blooming  — 

Ah  !  well  —  on  my  life, 
1    think  —  to   be    candid  —  (don't 

turn  up  your  nose!) 
That  every  new  wedding  should 
bring  a  new  wife!  " 

•'  And  what  if  it  should?  "  was  the 

laughing  reply; 
"  Do  you  think,  my  dear  John, 

you  could  ever  obtain 
Another  so  fond  and  so  faithful  as  I, 
Should  you  purchase  a  wig,  and 
go  courting  again  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  darling,"  I  answered,  •'  't  is 

just  as  you  say  '' ; 
And    clasping    a    waist    rather 

shapely  than  small 
I  kissed  the  dear  girl  in  so  ardent 

a  way 

You  would  n't  have  guessed  we 
were  married  at  all ! 


My  wedding-day,   Doctor,  is  also 

your  own ! 

And  so  I  send  greeting  to  bride 
groom  and  bride,  — 
The  latter  a  wife  good  as  ever  was 

known ; 

The  former  well  worthy  her  hom 
age  and  pride. 

uod   bless  your  new  nuptials!  — 

Still  happy  at  home, 
May  you  both  grow  serenely  and 
gracefully  old; 


And,   till  the  auriferous  wedding 

shall  come, 

Find  the  years  that  are  past  were 
as  silver  to  gold! 

September  9,  1866. 


LOOKING   OPT  INTO  THE 
NIGHT. 

LOOKING  out  into  the  night, 

I  behold  in  space  afar 

Yonder  beaming,  blazing  star; 
And  I  marvel  at  the  might 

Of  the  Giver  of  the  rays, 

And  I  worship  as  I  gaze, 
Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  e<py  two  lovers  near, 
And  their  happy  words  I  hear, 

While    their    solemn    troth    they 

plight; 

And  I  bless  the  loving  twain, 
Half  in  pleasure,  half  in  pain,  — 

Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
Lo !  a  woman  passing  by, 
Glancing    round    with  "anxious 

eye, 

Tearful;  fearful  of  the  light; 
And  I  think  what  might  have 

been 

But  for  treachery  and  sin,  — 
Looking  out  into  the  night. 

Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  behold  a  distant  sail 
Roughly  beaten  by  the  gale 

Till  it  vanishes  from  sight: 
And  I  ponder  on  the  strife 
Of  our  Meeting  human  life,     , 

Looking  out  into  the  night. 


100 


MUSA. 


Looking  out  into  the  night, 
I  bethink  me  of  the  rest 
And  the  rapture  of  the  blest 

In  the  land  where  all  is  light; 
Sitting  on  the  heavenly  shore, 
Weeping  never,  —  nevermore 

"  Looking  out  into  the  night!  " 


THE   OLD  YEAR  AND  THE 
NEW. 

GOOD  by.  Old  Year!     I  can  but 

say, 

Sadly  I  see  thee  passing  away; 
Passing  away  with  the  hopes  and 

fears, 
The   bliss  and  pain,  the  smiles 

and  tears, 

That  come  to  us  all  in  all  the 
years. 

Good  by,  Old  Year!     Little  indeed 
Thy  friendly  voice  wo  were  wont 

to  heed, 
Telling    us,    warning  us   every 

day:  — 
"Transient  mortals!   work  and 

pray ; 

You,     like    me,      are     passing 
away! " 

Good   by,    Old   Year!     Whatever 

may  be 
The   sins    and    stains    thou    hast 

chanced  to  see, 
Consider,  0  Year!  to  purge  the 

same, 
And   wash   away  the    sin   and 

sharne, 
Whilst      thou      wert      passing, 

CHRISTMAS  came ! 

Good  by,  Old  Year !     With  words 

of  grace 
Leave  us  to  him  who  takes  thy 

place; 


And   say,    Old   Year,   unto   the 

New, 
"  Kindly,  carefully,  carry  them 

through. 
For  much,   I  ween,   they  have 

vet  to  do!  " 


D  E   M  U  S  A. 

"WRITE  a  poem  —  solemn  —  ear 
nest- 
Worthy  of  your  muse !  " 
Ah !    when   loving  lips  command 

me, 

How  can  I  refuse  V 
But    the     subject !  —  that  's    the 

pother  — 
What  am  I  to  choose? 

War?     The   theme    is    something 

hackneyed; 

Since  old  Homer's  time, 
Half    the     minstrels,    large     aim. 

little, 

Have  been  making  rhyme 
With  inVnt  to  prove  that  murder 
(Wholesale)  is  sublime! 

Love?     A  most  delicious  topic; 

But  how  many  score, 
Nay,  ho\v  man  thousand  poets 

Deal  in  Cupid's  lore, 
From  Anacreun  to  Catullus, 

Not  to  mention  Moore. 

Grief?    Ah!  little  joy  has  Sorrow 

In  The  mimic  art; 
Can  the  lyre's  melodious  moaning 

Ease  the  mourner's  smart. 
Though  the  strings  were  very  fibres 

Of  the  player's  heart? 

Nature,  —  posies,  woods  and  wa 

ters  ? 
Everlasting  themes,  — 


ROGER   BON  TEMPS. 


101 


Can  the  poets,  in  the  rapture 

Of  their  finest  dreams, 
Paint  the  lily  of  the  valley 

Fairer  than  she  seems '/ 

Metaphysics  ?    Quite  in  fashion,  — 

But  Apollo's  curse 
Blasts  the  syllogistic  rhymw; 

Why  should  I  reheai  se 
Knnl  in  cantos,  or  old  Flcto 

Torture  into  verse? 

Humor,  satire,  fun  t\m\  fancy, 
Wit  with  whclonj  blent,  — 

These,  to  give  my  Muse  amuse 
ment. 
Heaven  lun  kindly  lent; 

I.<it  \ifr  '.i«e  and  die  a-luughing, 
I  >'i;'ll  be  content  1 


AUGUSTA. 

"  Ineedit  regina!  " 

''HANDSOME  and  haughty!  "  — a 

comment  that  came 
From  lips  which  were  never  ac 
customed  to  malice; 
A.  girl  with  a  presence  superb  as 

her  name, 
And  charmingly  fitted  for  love  — 

in  a  palace ! 

And  oft  I  have  wished  (for  in  mus 
ing  alone 
One's  fancy  is  apt  to  be  very 

erratic) 
That  the  lady  might  wear  —  No ! 

I  never  will  own 
A  thought  so  decidedly  undemo 
cratic  !  — 
But  if't  were  a  coronet  —  this  I  '11 

aver, 

No  duchess  on  earth  could  more 
gracefully  wear  it; 


And  even  a  democrat,  thinking  of 

her, 

Might  surely   be  pardoned  for 
wishing  to  share  it ! 


ROGER  BONTEMPS. 


IMITATED   FROM   BERANGER. 


BY  way  of  good  example 

To  all  the  gloomy  clan, 
There  came  into  existence 

Good  Robin  Merryman. 
To  laugh  at  those  who  grumble, 

And  be  jolly  as  he  can,  — 
0  that 's  the  only  system 

Of  Robin  Merryman! 


A  hat  so  very  ancient 

It  might  have  covered  Moses, 
Adorned,  on  great  occasions, 

With  ivy-leaves  or  roses; 
A  coat  the  very  coarsest 

Since  tailoring  began,  — 
0  that 's  the  gay  apparel 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 


Within  his  cottage  Robin 

With  joyful  eye  regards 
A  table  and  a  bedstead, 

A  flute,  a  pack  of  cards, 
A  chest,  with  nothing  in  it, 

An  earthen  water-can,  — 
0  these  are  all  the  riches 

Of  Robin  Merryman ! 


To  teach  the  village  children 
The  funniest  kind  of  plays; 

To  tell  a  clever  story; 
To  dance  on  holidays ; 


102 


THE  KING    OF  NORMANDY. 


To  puzzle  through  the  almanac ; 

A  merry  song  to  scan,  — 
0  that  is  all  the  learning 

Of  Kobin  Merryman ! 


To  drink  his  mug  of  cider, 

And  never  sigh  for  wine; 
To  look  at  courtly  ladies, 

Yet  think  his  Ma;/  divine; 
To  take  the  good  that 's  going, 

Content  with  Nature's  plan,  — 
0  that  is  the  philosophy 

Of  Robin  Merrvman  f 


To  say,  "  0  Gracious  Father ! 

Excuse  my  merry  pranks; 
For  all  thy  loving-kindness 

I  give  thee  hearty  thanks ; 
And  may  I  still  be  jolly 

Through        life's        remaining 

span,"  — 
0  that 's  the  style  of  praying 

With  Kobin  Merryman ! 


Now,  all  ye  wretched  mortals 

Aspiring  to  be  rich; 
And  ye  whose  gilded  coaches 

Have  tumbled  in  the  ditch ; 
Leave  off  your  silly  whining, 

Adopt  a  wiser  plan; 
Go  follow  the  example 

Of  Kobin  Merrvmau ! 


THE  KING  OF  NORMANDY. 

(From  Beranger's  "  Le  lloi  d'YTctot.") 

I. 

IN  Normandy  there  reigned  a  king 
(I  've  quite  forgot  his  name) 


Who  led  a  jolly  sort  of  life, 

And  did  n't  care  for  fame. 
A  nightcap  was  his  crown  of  state, 
Which    Jenny    placed    upon    his 

pate. 

Ha!  ha!  laugh  and  sing: 
0  was  n't  he  a  funny  king? 


He  ate  his  meals,  like  other  folk, 

Slept  soundly  and  secure, 
And  on  a  donkey  every  year 

He  made  his  royal  tour; 
A  little  dog —  it  was  his  whim  — 
Was  body-guard  enough  for  him. 
Ha!  ha!  laugh  and  sing: 
O  was  n't  he  a  funny  king? 


A  single  foible  he  confessed,  — 

A  tendency  to  drink ; 
But  kings  who  heed  their  subjects' 

need 

Should  mind  their  own,  I  think; 
And  thus  it  was  his  tax  he  got,  — 
For  every  cask  an  extra  pot. 
Ha!  ha!  laugh  and  sing: 
0  wasn't  he  a  funny  king? 


The  lasses  loved  this  worthy  king; 

And  many  a  merry  youth 
Would  hail  his  majesty  as  "Sire," 

And  often  spoke  the  truth. 
He   viewed   his   troops   in  goodly 

ranks, 
But    still    their    cartridges    were 

blanks. 

Ha!  ha!  laugh  and  sing: 
0  was  n't  he  a  funny  king? 


He  never  stole  his  neighbors'  land 

To  magnify  his  realm; 
But  steered  his  little  ship  of  state 

With  honor  at  the  helm ; 


THE  HUNTER  AND   THE  MILKMAID. 


103 


And  when  at  last  the  king  was 
dead, 

Xo  wonder  till  the  people  said,  — 
"Ah!  ah!  weep  and  sing: 
0  was  n't  he  a  noble  king?  " 


THE  HUNTER   AND   THE 
MILKMAID. 

(From  Beranger's  "  Le  Chasseur  et  la 

Laitiere.") 

I. 

TIIK  lark  is  singing  her  matin  lay, 
0  come  with  me,  fairv  maiden,  I 

pray ; 
Sweet,    O   sweet   is   the   morning 

hour, 
And   sweeter    still    is    yon    ivied 

bower; 
Wreaths  of  roses  I  '11  twine  for  thee, 

0  come,  fair  maiden,  along  with 

me ! 
Ah!  Sir  Hunter,  my  mother  is 

near; 
I  really   must  n't    be    loitering 

here. 

n. 

Thy  mother,  fair  maiden,   is   far 

away, 
And  never  will  listen  a  word  we 

say. 

1  '11  sing  thee  a  song  that  ladies 

sing 

In  royal  castles  to  please  the  king; 
A  wondrous  song,  whose  magical 

charm 
Will  keep  the  singer  from  every 

harm. 
Fie!   Sir   Hunter,  a  fig  for  your 

song 
Good  by!   for  I  must  be  going 

along. 


Ah !   well,  if  singing  will  not  pre 
vail, 

I  'II  tell  thee,  then,  a  terrible  tale; 
'T  is  all  about  a  Baron  so  bold, 
Huge  and  swart,  and  ugly  and  old, 
Who  saw  the  ghost  of  his  murdered 

wife,  — 

A  pleasant  story,  upon  my  life! 
Ah !  Sir  Hunter,  the  story  is  flat; 
/  know  one  worth  a  dozen  of 
that. 


IV. 

I  '11  teach  thee,   then,  a  curious 

prayer 
Of  wondrous  power  the  wolf  to 

scare, 
And  frighten  the  witch  that  hovers 

nigh 
To  blight  the  young  with  her  evil 

eye. 
0  guard,  fair  maiden,  thv  beauty 

well, 

A  fearful  thing  is  her  wicked  spell ! 
0,   I  can  read  my  missal,  you 

know. 
Good  by,  Sir  Hunter,  for  I  must 

go-' 


Nay,  tarry  a  moment,  my  charm 
ing  girl: 

Hero  is  a. jewel  of  gold  and  pearl; 

A  beautiful  cross  it  is,  I  ween, 

As  ever  on   beauty's   breast  was 
seen. 

There  's  nothing  at  all  but  love  to 
pay; 

Take  it,  and  wear  it,  but  only  stay ! 
Ah  !  Sir  Hunter,  what  excellent 

taste ! 

1  'TO  not  —  in  such — particular 
— h<iete! 


104 


THE  DINNER. 


THE  POET  TO  HIS  GARRET. 

(FROM  BERANGER. ) 

THRICE  welcome  the  place  where 

at  twenty  I  sought 
A  nest  for  myself  and  my  darling 

grisette ; 
Where  I  learned  the  queer  lessons 

that  poverty  taught, 
And   with   friendship   and   love 

banished  care  and  regret. 
'T  was  here  that  we  managed  our 

social  affairs, 
Unheeding  what  dunces  or  sages 

might  say; 
How  lightly  I  bounded  up  six  pair 

o'  stairs! 
Ah !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is 

gay ! 

'T  was  only  a  garret!    the    table 

stood'  here ; 
And  there  a  flock-bed, — 'twas 

the  best  we  could  get ; 
And  here  on  the  plaster  in  charcoal 

appear 

Three    lines    of    a    poem,     un 
finished  as  yet. 
"Comeback  to  me,-  Pleasures!" 

I  eagerly  shout : 

"  To  keep  you  alive  in  my  juve 
nile  day 
How  oft  my  repeater  was  '  put  up 

the  spout!  '  ' 
Ah!  life  in  a  gam 
gav 


garret  at  twenty  is 


My  laughing   Lisette!  would  she 

only  come  back. 
In  her  jaunty  straw  bonnet  how 

charming  was  she' 
Full  well  I  remember  her  dexterous 

knack 
Of  hanging  her  shawl  where  the 

curtain  should  be; 
Love !  kiss  her  silk  gown  with  your 

fondest  caress; 

You  know   where  she  got  it,  I 
venture  to  say. 


I  never  was  certain  who  paid  for 

the  dress; 

Ah !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is 
gay ! 

One  notable  day  in  those  glorious 

years, 
As  we   sat  in  the  midst  of  our 

feasting  and  fun, 
A  shout  from  the  people  saluted 

our  ears, 
"Napoleon  is  victor!    Marengo 

is  won !  " 
A  new  song  of  triumph  at  once  we 

essayed, 
While  cannon  were  blazing  ani\ 

booming  away, 
"  The  free  soil   of  France   kings 

shall  never  invade!  " 
Ah !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is 
gay! 

Away !  I  must  go  lest  my  reason 

should  reel; 
For  one  of  those  days  I  would 

cheerfully  give, 
With  the  pulses  of  youth  that  no 

longer  I  feel, 

All  the  lingering  years  I  am  des 
tined  to  live; 
The  love,  hope,  and  joy  that  at 

twenty  I  had, 
To  have  them  condensed  in  one 

glorious  day, 
Like   those  that  I  spent   when  a 

light-hearted  lad! 
Ah  !  life  in  a  garret  at  twenty  is 


THE  DINNER. 

FROM    THE   GERMAN    OF   GOETHE. 

AH!  many  a  guest  is  coming 
Around  my  table  to-day; 

The  fish,  the  flesh,  and  the  poultry 
Are  smoking  in  goodly  array; 


FOOLS  INCORRIGIBLE. 


105 


The  invitations  were  special, 
They  say  they  will  surely  ap- 
"pear. 

Huns,  g;>  look  at  the  window; 
Time  that  the  people  were  here ! 

Girls  are  coming  by  dozens, 
Maidens  whom  even  their  foes 

Never  have  once  detected 
Kissing  beneath  the  rose; 

Such  are  the  damsels  invited; 

They  said  they  would  surely  ap 
pear. 

Hans,  go  look  at  the  window; 
Time    that    the    maidens   were 
here ! 

Plentv  of  fine  young  fellows 

Are  coming  to  drink  my  health; 
Civil,  and  moral,  and  modest, 

Spite  of  their  titles  and  wealth. 
The  invitations  were  early; 

They  say  they  will  surely  ap 
pear. 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window; 

Time   that  the  younkers    were 
here ! 

Plenty  of  wives  are  coming, 

Such  as  the  ugliest  spouse 
Never  has  driven  a  moment 

To  think  of  breaking  their  vows. 
How  pleasant  to  see  them  together ! 

They  said  they  would  surely  ap 
pear  ; 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window; 

Time  that  the  women  were  here ! 

Husbands  also  are  coming, 

Models  of  temperate  lives; 
Men  who  are  blind  to  beauty, 

Save  in  their  excellent  wives. 
All  were  politely  invited, 

And  say   they   will  surely  ap 
pear; 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window; 

Time  that  the  fellows  were  here! 


Poets  are  also  invited; 

The      pleasantest     ever     were 

known ; 
Who  list  to  another's  verses 

Cheerfully  as  to  their  own; 
What  capital  dining  companions  J 

They    said    they   would  surely, 

appear. 
Hans,  go  look  at  the  window; 

Time  that  the  poets  were  here! 

Alas !  with  watching  and  waiting, 

The  dinner  is  certainly  spoiled; 
The  viands  are  cold  in  the  dishes, 

The  roast  and  the  baked  and  the 

boiled. 
Perhaps  we  were  over-punctilious; 

Our  feast  is  a  failure,  I  fear. 
Hans,   come  away  from  the  win 
dow  ; 

Never  a  one  will  be  here !. 


FOOLS  INCORRIGIBLE. 

PROM   THE   GERMAN    OF  GOETHE. 
I. 

ALL  the  old  sages,  however  indeed 
They  wrangle  and  fight  in  the 

'bitterest  way, 
In  one  thing,  at   least,   are  fully 

agreed : 
They  wink  at  each  other  and 

laughingly  say, 

for  the  mendiny  of  fools  it  is  fool 
ish  to  wait, 

Fools  will  be  fools  as  certain  as  fate. 
Sons  of   Wisdom!   make  'em 

your  tools  ; 

Thut,  only  that,  is  the  use  of 
fools  ! 


MERLIN,  the  ancient,  long  in  his 

shroud, 

Where  I  accosted  him  once  io 
nay  youth,  , 


106 


THE  BEST   OF  HUSBANDS. 


Unto    my    questioning    answered 

aloud, 
Solemnly  speaking  this  notable 

truth : 

For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  fool 
ish  to  wait, 

Fools  will  befools  as  certain  as  fate. 
Sons  of  Wisdom!   make  'em 

your  tools ; 

That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of 
fools ! 


High  on  the  top  of  an  Indian  mound 

I  heard  it  once  in  the  passing  air ; 

And  Egypt's  vaults,  deep  under  the 

ground, 
The  same  old  tale  were  echoing 

there : 

For  the  mending  of  fools  it  is  fool 
ish  to  wait, 

Fools  will  befools  ascertain  as  fate. 
Sons  of  Wisdom!    make  ''em 

your  tools, 

That,  only  that,  is  the  use  of 
fools  ! 


THE  BEST   OF  HUSBANDS. 

PROM   THE   GERMAN. 

0  I  HAVE  a  man  as  good  as  can  be, 
No  woman  could  wish  for  a  better 

than  he. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  he  may  chance 

to  be  wrong, 
But  his  love  for  me  is  uncommonly 

strong. 

He  has  one  little  fault  that  makes 

me  fret, 
He  has  ever  less  money,  by  far, 

than  debt; 


Moreover,  he  thrashes  me  now  anil 

then ; 
But,  excepting  that,  he  's  the  best 

of  men! 

I  own  he   is  dreadfully  given  to 

drink, 
Besides,  he  is  rather  too  fond,  I 

think, 
Of  playing  at  cards  and  dice;  but 

then, 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of 

men! 

He  loves  to  chat  with  the  girls,  I 

know 
('T  is  the  way  with  men,  they  are 

always  so), 
But  what  care  1  for  his  flirting, 

when, 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of 

men? 

When  soaked  with  rum,  he  is  hard 
ly  polite, 

But  knocks  the  crockery  left  and 
right, 

And  pulls  my  hair,  and  growls 
again; 

But,  excepting  that,  he  's  the  best 
of  men! 

I  can't  but  say  I  think  he  is  rash 
To  pawn  my  pewter,  and  spend 

the  cash, 
But  I  have  n't  the  heart  to  scold 

him,  when, 
Excepting  that,  he  's  the  best  of 

men! 

What  joy  to  think  he  is  all  my  own ! 
The  best  of  husbands  that  ever  was 

known ; 

As  good,  indeed,  as  a  man  can  be; 
And  who  could  wish  for  a  better 

than  he  ? 


LOVE   POEMS. 


LOVE    POEMS. 


WOULDN'T    YOU    LIKE    TO 
KNOW? 

A   MADIUGAL. 


I  KNOW  a  girl  with  teeth  of  pearl, 
And  shoulders  white  as  snow; 

She  lives,  —  ah  !   well, 

I  must  not  tell,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know? 


Her  sunny  hair  is  wondrous  fair, 
And  wavy  in  its  flow; 

AVho  made  it  less 

One  little  tress,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know? 


Her  eyes  are  blue  (celestial  hue!) 
And  dazzling  in  their  plow; 
On  whom  they  beam 
With  inciting  gleam,  — 
Would  u't  you  like  to  know? 


Her  lips  are  red  and  finely  wed, 
Like  roses  ere  they  blow; 
What  lover  sips 
Those  dewy  lips,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know? 


Her  fingers  are  like  lilies  fair 
When  lilies  fairest  grow; 
Whose  hand  they  press 
With  fond  caress,  — 
Would  n't  vou  like  to  know? 


Her  foot  is  small,  and  has  a  fall 
Like  snowflakes  on  the  snow; 
And  where  it  goes 
Beneath  the  rose,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know? 


She   has   a   name,  the   sweetest 

name 
That  language  can  bestow. 

'T  would  break  the  spell 

If  I  should  tell,  — 
Would  n't  you  like  to  know? 


THE  LOVER'S  VISION. 


IN  my  watching  or  my  dreaming, 
Came  to  me  a  blessed  vision; 

Whether  real  or  but  seeming, 
Boots  me  not  to  make  decision : 
This  I  know  —  't  was  all  elysian. 


110 


UNREST. 


By  me  sat  a  maiden  fairer 
Than  the  Oda's  king  possesses ; 

But  I  wrong  her  to  compare  her. 
Happy,  happy  whom  she  blesses 
With  her  kisses  and  caresses ! 


in. 

Golden  hair,  like  sunlight  stream 
ing 

On  the  marble  of  her  shoulder, 
That  with  soft  and  snowy  gleaming 
Witched  the  eye  of  the  behold 
er, 

Dazed  me,  crazed  me  to  enfold 
her! 

IV. 

Heart  to  heart  we  sat  together ; 
(Ah,    to  feel  her  bosom's  beat 
ing!) 

Hand  in  hand  in  loving  tether, 
Lip  with  lip  in  rapture  meeting, 
Parting  but  for  closer  greeting. 


Oft  and  oft  I  would  be  dreaming, 
Could  I  bring  that  happy  vision ! 

Was  it  real,  or  but  seeming? 
Boots  me  not  to  make  decision: 
This  I  know  —  't  was  all  elysiau. 


THE  OATH. 

"  DON'T  forget  me!  "  sighing  sad 
ly* 

So  my  darling  bade  farewell, 
Haply  deeming  I  would  gladly 
Disenchant  me  of  her  spell. 

Ah.  the  siren !  when  did  Beauty 
Ask  in  vain  Love's  simple  debt? 


Or  whene'er  did  languid  Duty 
Heed  the  warning,  "  Don't  for- 
get"? 

By  her  eyes  where  love  reposes, 
"By  her  wealth  of  golden  hair, 

By  her  cheek's  ungathered  roses, 
"By  her  neck  divinely  fair, 

By  her  bosom,  throne  of  blisses, 
"Hiding  from  the  wanton  light, 

Pale  with  envy  at  the  kisses 
That  her  bolder  lips  invite; 

By  the  hours  so  sweetly  squandered 

"in  the  summer  afternoons ; 
By  the  orchard  where  we  wandered 
In  the  sheen  of  harvest  moons ; 

By  the  poets,  new  and  olden, 
"Who  in  pity  lent  us  speech 
For  the  fancies,  rare  and  golden, 
That    our  words    could    never 
reach, — 

By  all  these  my  oath  is  given : 
Though  my  soul  remember  not 

Earthly  fame  or  hope  of  heaven, 
She  shall  never  be  forgot ! 


UNREST. 

ONE  o'clock !  and  still  I  ponder 
On  the  joys  of  yesterday; 

Xcvcr  lover  weaker,  fonder, 
Sighed  the  weary  hours  away. 

Ill-content  with  saying,  singing, 
All  its  worship  o'er  and  o'er; 

Still  the  heart  would  fain  be  clinf 

ing 
Round  its  idol,  evermore ! 


TO  LESBIA. 


Ill 


Half  in  pleasure,  half  in  sorrow, 
Thinking     o'er     each     fervent 
kiss, 

Still  I  vainly  strive  to  borrow 
From  the  Past  its  buried  bliss. 

Now  I  hear  her  fondly  sighing, 
As  when  late  we  sat  alone, 

While  the  dancer's  feet  were  fly 
ing,  — 
Ah !  "the  sigh  is  but  my  own ! 

"  Thus  mv  darling  I  would  smoth 
er!'" 

In  my  dreaming  oft  I  say. 
Foolish  lips,  that  kiss  each  other! 

Hers,  alas !  are  far  away. 

On  my  cheek  I  feel  the  billow 
Of  iier  glowing  bosom  beat,  — 

Ah !  't  is  -but  the  pulseless  pillow ! 
Shall  1  curse  or  bless  the  cheat? 

Dreaming,  waking,  I  am  weary. 

Would  that  morning  might  ap 
pear  ! 
0,  't  is  dreary,  very  dreary, 

Thus  to  love,  and  not  be  near! 


TO  MY  LOVE. 

"  Da  mi  basia.  "  —  CATULLUS. 

I. 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me 

low; 

Malice  has  ever  a  vigilant  ear; 
What    if  Malice   were   lurking 

near  ? 

Kiss  me,  dear! 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me 
low. 


Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me 

low; 

Envy  too  has  a  watchful  ear; 
What  if  Envy  should  chance  to 

hear '{ " 

Kiss  me,  dear! 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me 
low. 


Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me 

low ; 
Trust  me,   darling,  the  time  is 

near 
When  we  may  love  with  never 

a  fear; 

Kiss  me,  dear! 

Kiss  me  softly  and  speak  to  me 
low. 


TO   LESBIA. 

"On  s'embrasse  a  chaque  instant, 
Puis  encore !  " 

VICTOR  HUGO. 


GIVE  me  kisses !     Do  not  stay, 
Counting  in  that  careful  way. 
All  the  coins  vour  lips  can  print 
Never  will  exhaust  the  mint. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again ! 


Give  me  kisses !     Do  not  stop, 
Measuring  nectar  by  the  drop. 
Though  to  millions  "they  amount, 
They  will  never  drain  the  fount. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again! 


112 


DARLING,    TELL   ME    YES. 


Give  me  kisses !     All  is  waste 
Save  the  luxury  we  taste; 
And  for  kissing,  —  kisses  live 
Only  when  we  take  or  give. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment — and  again! 


Give  me   kisses !     Though    their 

worth 

Far  exceeds  the  gems  of  earth, 
Never  pearls  so  rich  and  pure 
Cost  so  little,  I  am  sure. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again ! 


Give  me  kisses!    Nay,  't  is  true 
I  am  just  as  rich  as  you ; 
And  for  every  kiss  I  owe, 
I  can  pay  you  back,  vou  know. 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment  —  and  again ! 


MY  SAXON  BLONDE. 

THEY  say  the  dark-eyed  maids  of 

Spain 

Are  passionate  and  fond ; 
But  eyes  of  blue  are  tender  and 

true,  — 
Give  me  my  Saxon  blonde ! 

An  arch   coquette   is   the    bright 

brunette, 

Blithe  and  merry  and  gay; 
Her  love  may  last  till  the  Summer 

is  past, 
But  my  blonde's  forever  and  aye ! 

If  bards  of  old  the  truth  have  told, 
The  Sirens  have  raven  hair ; 


But  o'er  the  earth,  since  art  had 

birth, 
They  paint  the  Angels  fa;r. 

Ah !    well,    maybe,    the   truth  to 

see, 

A  lover  is  over  fond ; 
And   I   can't   deny — nor   will    1 

try  — 
My  love  is  a  golden  blonde ! 


DARLING,    TELL  ME  YES. 


ONE  little  moment  more,  Maud; 

One  little  whisper  more; 
I  have  a  word  to  speak,  Maud, 

I  never  breathed  before. 
What  can  it  be  but  fore,  Maud  ? 

And  do  I  rightly  guess 
'T  is  pleasant  to  your  ear,  Maud? 

0  darling !  tell  me  yes  ! 


The  burden  of  my  heart,  Maud, 

There  's  little  need  to  tell; 
There  's  little  need  to  say,  Maud, 

I  've  loved  you  long  and  well. 
There  'slanguage  in  a  sigh,  Maud, 

One's  meaning  to  express; 
And  yours  —  was  it  for  me,  Maud  ' 

0  darling!  tell  me  yes! 


My  eyes  have  told  mv  love,  Maud ; 

And  on  my  burning  cheek 
You  've  read  the  tender  thought, 
Maud, 

My  lips  refused  to  speak. 
I  gave  you  all  my  heart,  Maud, 

'T  is  needless  to  confess; 


TIME  AND  LOVE. 


113 


And    did    vou    give    me    yours, 

Maud? 
0  darling!  tellme?/es/ 


'T  is  sad  to  starve  a  love,  Maud, 

So  worshipful  and  true; 
I  know  a  little  cot,  Maud, 

Quite  large  enough  for  two; 
And  you  will  be  my  wife,  Maud? 

So  may  you  ever  bless, 
Through     all     vour    sunny    life, 
Maud, 

The  day  you  answered  yes  ! 


TIME  AND  LOVE. 

AN  ALLEGORY. 

OLD  Time  and  young  Love,  on  a 

morning  in  May, 
Chanced  to  meet  by  a  river  in 

halcyon  weather, 
And,  agreeing  for    once,  ('t   is  a 

fable,  you  '11  say, ) 
In  the  same  little  boat  made  a 
voyage  together. 

Strong,  steady,  and  patient,  Time 

pulled  at  his  oar, 
And   swift  o'er  the   water  the 

voyagers  go; 
But   Love,   who  was   thinking   of 

Pleasure  on  shore, 
Complained   that    his    boatman 
was  wretchedly  slow. 

Rut  Time,  the  old  sailor,  expert  at 

his  trade, 
And   knowing  the  leagues  that 

remained  to  be  done, 
Content    with   the   regular    speed 

that  he  made, 

Tugged  away  at  his  oar  and  kept 
steadily  on. 


Love,  always  impatient  of  doubt 

or  delay, 
Now  sighed  for  the  aid  of  the 

favoring  gales, 

And  scolded  at  Time,  in  the  sau 
ciest  way, 

For  not   having   furnished    the 
shallop  with  sails. 

But  Time,  as  serene  as  a  calendar 

saint, 
(Whatever  the  graybeard    was 

thinking  upon,)" 
All  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  younk- 

er's  complaint, 

Tugged  away  at  his  oar  and  kept 
steadily  on. 

Love,    vexed   at    the  heart,   only 

clamored  the  more, 
And   cried,    "By  the  gods!    in 

what  country  or  clime 
Was  ever  a  lubber  who  handled  an 

oar 

In  so  lazy  a  fashion  as  old  Father 
Time  V  " 

But  Time  only  smiled  in  a  cynical 

way, 
(i.T  is  often  the  mode  with  your 

elderly  Don,) 
As  one  who  knows  more  than  he 

cares  to  display, 
And  still  at  his  oar  pulled  stead 
ily  on. 

Grown  calmer  at  last,  the  exuber 
ant  boy 
Enlivens      the     minutes     with 

snatches  of  rhyme; 
The  voyage,  at  length,  he  begins 

to  enjoy. 

And  soon  lias  forgotten  the  pres 
ence  of  Time ! 

But  Time,  the  severe,  egotistical  elf, 
Since  the  day  that  his  travels  he 
entered  upon, 


114 


THE  LAWYERS    VALENTINE. 


Has  ne'er  for  a  moment  forgotten 

himself, 

But  tugs  at  his  oar  and  keeps 
steadily  on. 

Awaking  once    more,    Love   sees 

with  a  sigh 
That  the  River  of  Life  will  be 

presently  passed, 
And  now  he  breaks  forth  with  a 

piteous  cry, 

"  0  Time,  gentle  Time !  you  are 
rowing  too  fast!  " 

But  Time,  well  knowing  that  Love 

will  be  dead, 
Dead,  —  dead !  in  the  boat !  —  ere 

the  voyage  is  done, 
Only  gives  him  an  ominous  shake 

of  the  head, 

While  he  tugs   at  his  oar  and 
keeps  steadily  on ! 


LOVE'S   CALENDAR. 

TO  AN  ABSENT   WIFE. 

0  SINCE  't  is  decreed  by  the  envi 
ous  Fates, 

All  deaf  to  the  clamoring  heart, 
That  the  truest  and  fondest  of  con 
jugal  mates 
Shall  often  be  sighing  apart; 

Since  the  Days  of  our  absence  are 

many  and  sad, 
And  the  Hours  of  our  meeting 

are  few, 
Ah !  what  in  a  case  so  exceedingly 

bad, 
Can  the  deepest  philosophy  do? 

Pray  what  can  we  do,  — unfortu 
nate  elves, 
Unconscious  of  folly  or  crime,  — 


But  make  a  new  Calendar  up  for 

ourselves, 
For  the  better  appraisal  of  time '} 

And  the  Hours  alone  shall  the  Cal 
endar  fill, 

(While  Blanks  show   their  dis 
tance  apart, ) 
Just  sufficiently  near  to  keep  off 

the  chill 

That  else  might  be  freezing  the 
heart; 

And  each   Hour  shall  be  such  a 

glorious  hour, 
Its    moments   so  precious    and 

dear, 
That  in  breadth,  and  in  depth,  and 

in  bliss-giving  power, 
It    mav   fairly   be    reckoned    a 


THE  LAWYER'S  VALENTINE. 

I  'M  notified,  fair  neighbor  mine, 
By  one  of  our  profession, 

That  this  —  the   Term  of  Valen 
tine  — 
Is  Cupid's  Special  Session. 

Permit  me.  therefore,  to  report 
Myself,  on  this  occasion, 

Quite  ready  to  proceed  to  Court, 
And  File  my  Declaration. 

I  've  an  Attachment  for  you,  too; 

A  legal  and  a  strong  one; 
0,  yield  unto  the  Process,  do; 

Nor  let  it  be  a  long  one ! 

No  scowling  bailiff  larks  behind; 

He  M  he  a  precious  noddy, 
Who,  failing  to  Arrest  the  mind, 

Should  go  and  Take  the  Body ! 


THE   CHAPEL    OF   TWO  SAINTS. 


115 


For  though  a  form  like  yours  might 
throw 

A  sculptor  in  distraction; 
I  could  n't  serve  a  Capias,  — no, 

1  'd  scorn  so  base  an  Action ! 

0,  do  not  tell  me  of  your  youth, 
And  turn  away  demurely; 

For  though  you  're  very  young,  in 

truth, 
You  're  not  an  Infant  surely! 

•i  he  Case  is  everything  to  me ; 

My  heart  is  love's  own  tissue; 
Don't  plead  a  Dilatory  Plea; 

Let  's  have  the  General  Issue! 

Or,    since    you  've   really  no  De 
fence, 

Why  not,  this  present  Session, 
Omitting  all  absurd  pretence, 

Give  judgment  by  Confession'? 

So  shall  you  be  my  lawful  wife; 

And  I  —  your  faithful  lover  — 
Be  Tenant  of  your  heart  for  Life, 

With  no  Remainder  over ! 


A  REASONABLE  PETITION. 

i'ou  say,  dearest  girl,  you  esteem 

mo, 

And  hint  of  respectful  regard, 
And  1  'm  certain  it  would  n't  be 
seem  me 

Such  an  excellent  gift  to  discard. 

But  even  the  Graces,  you  '11  own, 

Would    lose   half   their  beauty 

apart; 
And  Esteem,  when  she  stands  all 

alone, 

Looks  most  unbecomingly  tart. 
So  grant  me,  dear  girl,  this  peti 
tion  :  — 

If  Esteem  e'er  again  should  come 
hither, 


Just  to  keep  her  in  cheerful  con 
dition, 

Let  Love  come  in  company  with 
her! 


THE   CHAPEL   OF  TWO 
SAINTS. 

Ix  a  famous  Tuscan  city 

Stands  a  chapel  snug  and  small; 
Some  old  penitent's  oblation. 
With  a  double  dedication, 

To  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul. 

To  a  soul  so  stoutly  guarded 
What  of  evil  could  befall? 
When  was  ever  plan  completcr 
Without  robbery  of  Peter, 
Paying  thus  his  due  to  Paul  V 

There  it  was  I  saw  a  lady, 

Very  round  and  ripe  and  tall; 
Surely  never  face  was  sweeter 
Than  she  turned  upon  St.  Peter, 
After  bowing  to  St.  Paul. 

Long  and  ardently  I  worshipped,  — 
Not   the   Saints,   nor   yet   their 

Master, 

But  my  feminine  ideal; 
Mea  culpa  I  she  was  real 

Flesh  and  blood,  and  they  were 
plaster ! 

Good  St.  Anthony  was  tempted, 

Though  a  frigid  old  divine 
(Showing  saints  are  only  human), 
But  he  never  saw  a  woman 
Half  so  beautiful  as  mine ! 

Pardon  then  my  bad  behavior, 
(Thus  upon  the  twain  I  call,) 
As  if  you  were  in  my  case, 
And  were  asking  special  grace 
Of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul ! 


116 


DRINKING  SONG. 


THE  LITTLE  MAID  AND  THE 
LAWYER. 

A  SONG. 


THEY  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Law 
yer  Brown, 
I  'm  the  cleverest  man  in  all  the 

town. 

Heigh-ho !  says  she, 
What 's  that  to  me  ? 
Rut  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth 

Lawyer  Brown, 
You  're  the"  prettiest  girl  in  all  the 

town. 

Says  she,  If  they  do, 
What 's  that  to  you? 


They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Law 
yer  Brown, 
I  'm  the  richest   man  in   all  the 

town. 

Heigh-ho !  says  she, 
What  's  that  to  me? 
But  they  say,  little  maid,  quoth 

Lawyer  Brown, 
You  ought  to  be  dressed  in  a  finer 

gown. 

Says  she,  If  they  do, 
What 's  that  to'you? 


They  say,  little  maid,  quoth  Law 
yer  Brown. 
That  Johnny  Hodge  is  an  awkward 

clown. 

Heigh-ho!  says  she, 
What 's  that  to  in e? 
But  they  say,  little  maid,  the  law 
yer  said, 
That  you  and  Johnny  are  going  to 

wed. 

Says  she.  If  we  do, 
What  's  that  to  you? 


DRINKING  SONG. 

BY  A  TEETOTALER. 
"  Ex  ipso  fonte  bibi."  —  OVID. 

I  'VE  been  drinking,  I  've  been 
drinking, 

To  intoxication's  edge; 
Do  not  chide  me;  for  the  tipple 

Was  n't  mentioned  in  the  pledge. 

Nay,  believe  me,  —  't  was  not 
Brandy 

Wrought  the  roses  that  you  see ; 
One  may  get  a  finer  crimson 

From  a  purer  eau-de-vie. 

No,  indeed ;  it  was  not  Claret 
(That    were     something    over- 
weak); 

There  's  a  vastly  better  vintage 
For  the  painting  of  a  theek. 

Not  Angelica,  — the  honey 
By  Loyola's  children  pressed 

From  the  Andalusian  clusters 
Ripened  in  the  Golden  West; 

Not  Madeira,  Hock,  nor  Sherry; 

No,  indeed,  't  is  none  of  these 
Makes  me  giddy  in  the  forehead, 

Makes  me  tremble  in  the  knees. 

No;  't  is  not  the  Gallic  "  Widow  " 
That    has    turned    my    foolish 
brain, 

Nor  the  wine  of  any  vineyard 
Found  in  Germany  or  Spain. 

Nay  —  I  own  it !  —  't  is  the  nectar 
That  a  favored  lover  sips 

(All  unheeding  of  the  danger!) 
From  a  maiden's  pulpy  lips ! 

This  it  is  that  I  've  been  drinking 
To  intoxication's  edge; 


EGO  ET  ECHO. 


117 


Till  I  marvel  that  the  tipple 
Is  n't  mentioned  in  the  pledge! 

For  the  taste  is  so  enchanting 

'T  is  impossible  to  see, 
Should  it  grow  into  a  habit, 

What  the  consequence  may  be. 

Well,  I  '11  heed  the  sage's  lesson, 
Pleasant,   though    it    prove    in 
vain, 

And  by  drinking  very  largely 
Try  to  sober  me  again! 


EGO  ET  ECHO. 

A   FANTASY. 
I. 

I  ASKED  of  Echo,  't  other  day, 
(Whose  words  are  few  and  often 

funny, ) 

What  to  a  novice  she  could  say 
Of  courtship,  love,  and   matri- 

monv  ? 

Quoth    tfcho,    plainly:     "  Mat- 
ter-o' '-money  ! 


Whom  should  I  marrv ?  should  it 

be 
A    dashing    damsel,    gay    and 

pert,  — 

A  pattern  of  inconstancy; 
Or  selfish,  mercenary  flirt? 
Quoth    Echo,    sharply:    "Nary 
flirt!" 


What  if,  aweary  of  the  strife 
That   long  has   lured   the   dear 
deceiver, 


She  promised  to  amend  her  life, 
And  sin  no  more,  can  I  believe 

her? 

Quoth     Echo,    very    promptly: 
"  Leave  her  !  " 


But  if  some  maiden  with  a  heart, 
On  me  should  venture  to  bestow 

it: 

Pray,  should  I  act  the  wiser  part 
To  take  the  treasure,  or  forego 

it? 

Quoth  Echo,  with  decision:  "  Go 
it!" 


Suppose  a  billet-doux  (in  rhyme), 
As  warm  as  if  Catullus  penned  it, 
Declare  her  beauty  so  sublime 
That  Cvtherea's  can't  transcend 

it,  — 

Quoth  Echo,  very  clearly:  "Send 
it!" 


But  what  if,  seemingly  afraid 
To  bind   her  fate   in   Hvmen's 

fetter, 
She    vow    she    means    to    die    a 

maid,  — 

In  answer  to  my  loving  letter? 
Quoth  Echo,  rather  coolly :  "  Let 
her  !  " 


What  if,  in  spite  of  her  disdain, 
I  find  my  heart  entwined  about 

With  Cupid's  clear  delicious  chain, 
So  closely  that  I  can't  get  out? 
Quoth  Echo,  laughingly:  "  Get 
out!" 


But  if   some    maid   with   beauty 

blest, 

As  pure  and  fair  as  Heaven  can 
make  her, 


118 


DAISY  DAY. 


Will  share  my  labor  and  my  rest, 
Till  envious  Death  shall  overtake 

her? 
Quoth  Echo  (sotto  voce):  "Take 

her ! ' ' 


THE  MAIDEN  TO  THE  MOON.* 

0  MOON!  did  you  see 
My  lover  and  me 

In  the  valley  beneath  the  sycamore- 
tree  ? 

Whatever  befell, 
OMoon!  don't  tell; 
'T  was  nothing  amiss,  you  know 
very  well. 

0  Moon !  you  know, 
A  long  time  ago 
You  left   the  sky  and  descended 

below, 

Of  a  Summer's  night, 
By  your  own  sweet  light, 
To  meet  your  Endymion  on  Lat- 
mos  height. 

And  there,  0  Moon! 
You  gave  him  a  boon, 
You   would  n't,    1  'm    sure,    have 

granted  at  noon ; 
'T  was  nothing  amiss, 
Being  only  the  bliss 
Of  giving  —  and  taking  —  an  inno 
cent  kiss ! 

Some  churlish  lout, 
Who  was  spying  about, 
Went  off  and  blabbed,  and  so  it 

got  out; 

But  for  all  the  gold 
The  sea  could  hold, 
0  Moon!    /wouldn't   have  gone 
and  told ! 


So,  Moon!  don't  tell, 

Whatever  befell 
My  lover  and  me  in  the  leafy  dell; 

He  is  honest  and  true, 

And,  remember,  too, 
We  only  behaved  like  your  lover 
and  you ! 


DAISY  DAY. 

A   REMINISCENCE  OF   TRAVEL. 

IT  was  in  an  Irish  city, 

In  the  pleasant  month  of  May, 
That  I  met  the  clever,  pretty, 

Lively,  lovely  Daisy  Day. 
Like  myself,  a  transient  ranger 

From  Columbia's  troubled  short*, 
Could  I  deem  her  quite  a  stranger 

Though  we  never  met  before? 

Love  of  country  —  so  despotic 

In  our  precious  native  land  — 
Finds  us  doubly  patriotic, 

Straying  on  a  foreign  strand; 
Hence,  perhaps,  her  friendly  man> 
ner, 

And  my  pulse's  quicker  play, 
When,  beneath  St.  Patrick's  ban* 
ner, 

I  accosted  Daisy  Day. 

Bless  me !  how  all  eyes  were  cen. 
tred 

On  her,  when  the  parlor  door 
Opened,  and  the  lady  entered 

Like  a  queen  upon  the  floor! 
'T  was  as  if,  that  summer  even, 

Some  superlative  perfume, 
Wafted  by  the  breath  of  Heaven, 

Suddenly  had  filled  the  room ! 

Happy  favorite  of  Nature, 
Hebe  in  her  sunny  face. 


TO  A  BEAUTIFUL  STRANGER. 


119 


Juno  in  her  queenly  stature, 
More  tluin  Juno  in  her  grace, 

Eyes  befitting  Beauty's  goddess, 
Mouth  to  steal  your  heart  away, 

Bust  that  strained  her  ample  bod 
ice,  — 
Such  was  charming  Daisy  Day. 

Well,    what    then?      Ah!     Holy 
Mother ! 

Pardon  one  pathetic  sigh; 
She  's  the  ''partner"  of  another, 

And  —  I  own  it  —  so  am  1 ! 
But  a  poet  owes  to  Beauty 

More  than  common  men  can  pav, 
And  I  've  done  my  simple  clutv," 

Singing  thus  of  Daisv  Day. 


A  SUMMER  SCENE. 

I  SAW  you,  lately,  at  an  hour 
To  lovers  reckoned  dear 

For  tender  trysts;  and  this  is  what 
1  chanced  to  see  and  hear: 

You    sat     beneath    the     Summer 
moon, 

A  friend  on  either  hand, 
And  one  applauded  your  discourse, 

And  one  — could  understand. 

You  quoted  gems  of  poesy 
Bv  mighty  masters  wrought; 

And  one   remarked  the   pleasant 

rhyme, 
And  one,  the  golden  thought,. 

Your    smiles    (how    equally    be 
stowed  ! ) 

Upon  the  list'ners  fell; 
And  one  was  fain  to  praise  your 

eyes, 
And  one,  to  read  them  well. 


You  jested  in  a  merry  vein, 

And,     conscious,     played     the 

child; 

And  one  was  moved  to  brave  re 
tort, 
And  one,  in  silence,  smiled. 

You  spoke  of  angel-life  above 
That  evermore  endures; 

And  one   looked  up,   with  lifted 

hands, 
And  one  —  was  kissing  yours ! 

And  then  you  laughed  the  ringing 
laugh 

That  shows  a  spirit  glad; 
And  one,  thereat,  was  very  gay, 

And  one  was  something  sad. 

And  did   you   guess  (ah!    need  I 
ask'V) 

While  thus  they  sat  with  you, 
That  one  was  but  a  light  gallant, 

And  one  a  lover  true  V 


TO    A    BEAUTIFUL    STRAN 
GER. 

A    GLANCE,   a  smile,  —  I    see  it 

yet ! 
A   moment    ere  the  train   was 

starting; 
How  strange  to  tell!   we  scarcely 

met, 
And  yet  I  felt  a  pang  at  parting. 

And  you,  (alas!  that  all  the  while 

"T  is  /alone  who  am  confessing!) 

What  thought  was  lurking  in  your 

smile 

Is  quite  beyond  my  simple  guess 
ing. 


120 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED. 


I  only  know  those  beaming  rays 

Awoke  in  me  a  strange  emotion, 
Which,  basking  in  their  wanner 

blaze, 

Perhaps  might  kindle  to  devo 
tion. 

Ah!  many  a  heart  as  stanch  as 

this, 
By   smiling    lips    allured    from 

Duty/ 
Has    sunk     in     Passion's     dark 

abyss,  — 

"  Wrecked  on  the  coral  reefs  of 
Beauty!" 

And  so,  't  is  well  the  train's  swift 

flight 
That  bore   away  my  charming 

stranger 
Took  her —  God  bless  her !  —  out  of 

sight, 

And  me,  as  quickly,  out  of  dan 
ger! 


HERCULES  SPINNING. 


BOND  slave  to  Omphale, 

The  haughty  Lydian  queen, 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 

The  beauteous  Lydian  queen, 
Lo !  Hercules  is  seen 
Spinning,  spinning  like  a  maid, 
While  aside  his  club  is  laid, 
And  the  hero  boasts  no  more 
All  his  doughty  deeds  of  yore, 
But  with  sad,  submissive  mien 
Spinning,  spinning  still  is  seen, 
Bond  slave  to  Omphale, 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 
The  haughty  Lydian  queen. 


Shame !  that  for  a  woman's  whim, 
He,  so  stout  of  heart  and  limb, 
Must  his  nature  so  abuse 
Thus  his  mighty  arm  to  use,  — 
Not  the  manly  mace  to  whirl, 
But  a  tiny  spindle  twirl, 
Spinning,  spinning  like  a  girl, 
With  a  soft,  submissive  mien, 
Bond  slave  to  Omphale, 
Fond  slave  to  Omphale, 
The  haughty  Lydian  queen. 


Fond  slave  to  Omphale,  — 

Bond  slave  no  more ; 
Love  lias  loosed  whom  Tyranny 

Basely  bound  before ! 
The  distaff  now  is  cast  aside, 
And,  leaning  on  his  club  in  pride, 

Lo !  Hercules  is  seen 

In  majesty  serene,  — 
A  hero  sitting  by  his  bride, 

Fair  Omphale,  his  queen! 


Whatever  mortals  crave, 

So  rule  the  gods  above 
That  manly  Strength  is  Beauty's 
slave, 

And  Beauty  yields  to  Love. 


HOW  IT   HAPPENED. 

"  AH!  we  love  each  other  well, 
Better  far  than  words  can  tell,'' 
Said  my  charmer;  "  but  in  vain 
Are  my  efforts  to  explain 
How  it  happened.     Tell  me  now, 
Dearesr.  of  the  why  and  hoir  ! 
Shine  the  fact  we  cannot  doubt, 
Tell  me  how  it  came  about." 


CARL  AND  I. 


121 


Well,  my  darling,  I  will  try 
To  explain  the  how  and  why, 
(Speaking  for  myself,  not  you; 
That,  of  course,  I  cannot  do.) 

Not  your  brilliant  mind  alone 
Could    have   thus   enthralled   my 

own; 

Not  the  charm  of  every  grace 
Beaming  from  your  sunny  face; 
Not  your  voice,  though  music  be 
Less  melodious  to  me; 
Not  your  kisses,  sweeter  far 
Than  the  drops  of  Hybla  are; 
None  of  these,  from  each  apart, 
Could  have  so  enchained  my  heart; 
Nay,  not  e'en  the  wondrous  whole 
Could    have   fixed   mv   wavward 

soul; 

Had    not    love      your    love      pre 
vailed, 
All  the  rest  had  surely  failed. 

There !    you    have   the    reason, 

dear; 
Is  the  explanation  clear V 

Ah!   1  own  it  seems  but  weak; 
Half  the  why  is  yet  to  seek; 
Only  this  I  surely  know, 
Never  woman  witched  me  so! 

Happy  let  my  charmer  be, 
Since  her  eyes  in  mine  may  see 
Flashes  of  the  hidden  fire 
(Half  devotion,  half  desire), 
And  her  ears  may  hear  the  sighs 
That  from  yearning  love  arise, 
Whispering,  in  the  fondest  tone, 
"  Take  me !  I  am  all  vour  own !  " 


EXAUDI   ANGELUS. 

HEAR  thou  my  prayer,    0   angel 

kind! 
Who  brought  my  gladdened  eyes 

to  see 
Him  whom  so  long  I  yearned  to 

find, 


And  gave  his  dear  heart  all  to 

me; 
0,  guard  him  well,   that  I   may 

prove 
Blest  in  my  lover  and  my  love. 

And  keep  thou  her  whose  fearful 

breast 
Still  trembles  for  its  new-found 

j°y> 

(Knowing,  ah  me!  but  little  rest) 
Lest  envious  maids  or  gods  de 
stroy 

This     wondrous     happiness    that 
seems 

Too  bright  for  aught  save  angel 
dreams. 

0,    bless    us   twain!    and    kindly 

teach; 
And  safely  guard  each  hallowed 

name 
From   blighting  hint  or    blasting 

speech 
To  make  our  cheeks  all  red  ior 

shame, 
That  Hush  not  for  the  love  they 

bear 
In  thy  pure  presence,  angel  fair. 

And  while,  with  lips  that  closer 

cling 

In  dread  to  part,  we  say  "  Fare 
well!" 

Keep  thou  this  love  a  holy  thing 
That  in  us  evermore  may  dwell, 

By  circling   hearth  or  sundering 
sea, 

Where'er  our  thankful  hearts  may 
be! 


CARL   AND  I. 

HE  calls  me  beautiful ;  and  I 
Ask  of  my  glass  the  reason  why; 
Alack  for  me ! 


122 


A  PHILOSOPHICAL    QUERY. 


And  yet  though  little  there  I  see, 
I  must  be  beautiful,  I  trow, 
When  such  as  he  can  deem  me  so. 

He  calls  me  brilliant ;  all  in  vain 
I  strive  the  wonder  to  explain; 

Alack  for  me ! 

And  yet,  whate'er  my  fancy  be, 
Some  spark  of  wit  therein  must 

glow 
When  such  as  he  can  think  it  so. 

He  calls  me  noble ;  and  I  turn 
My  soul  within  my  soul  to  learn ; 

Alack  for  me ! 

I  ana  not  proud  of  what  I  see; 
And  yet  some  goodness  there  must 

grow, 
When  such  as  he  can  find  it  so. 

He  calls  me  lovely ;  and  I  try 
To  seek  the  specious  reason  why; 

Alack  for  me ! 
And  yet  though  vain  my  question 

"  be, 

I  must  be  lovely  —  well  I  know  — 
When  such  as  he  can  love  me  so ! 


DO  I  LOVE  THEE  ? 

A  SONG. 

Do  I  love  thee  ?     Ask  the  bee 
If  she  loves  the  flowery  lea 
Where  the  honeysuckle  blows 
And  the  fragrant  clover  grows. 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling !  take  my  answer  so. 

Do  I  love  thee?     Ask  the  bird 
When  her  matin  song  is  heard, 
If  she  loves  the  sky  so  fair, 
Fleecy  cloud  and  liquid  air. 
As  she  answers,  \  es  or  No, 
D'urling!  take  my  answer  so. 


Do  I  love  thee?     Ask  the  flower 
If  she  loves  the  vernal  shower, 
Or  the  kisses  of  the  sun, 
Or  the  dew,  when  day  is  done. 
As  she  answers,  Yes  or  No, 
Darling!  take  my  answer  so. 


THE  LOVER'S   CONFESSION1. 

"  COME,  name  my  fault!  "  I  said, 

"that  I 

May  mend  it."     So  I  made  reply 
To  Laura,  darling  of  my  heart, 
Whom  long,  in  vain,  by  every  art 
I  tried  to  force  to  franker  speech. 
"  Do  tell  me  plainly,  I  beseech, 
For  my  soul's  sake,  that  while  I 

live 

I  may  repent  and  Heaven  forgive !  " 
'•'T'is   worldliness ! "  at  last  she 

said, 
And,  blushing,  drooped  her  lovely 

head, 

As  if  she  feared  I  might  infer 
She  meant  forgetfulness  of  her. 
"And  is  that  all?"  I  answered. 

"  Well, 
I    own    the    world's     enchanting 

spell ; 

The  fault  is  one  I  cannot  hide; 
But  ah !  't  is  not  for  you  to  chide; 
Still,  dearest,  let  me  worldly  be, 
Since  yvu  are  '  all  the  world '  to 

me!  " 


A  PHILOSOPHICAL  QUERY. 

TO   . 

IF  Virtue  be  measured  by  what  we 

resist, 

When    against    Inclination    we 
strive, 


LIP-SERVICE. 


123 


You  and  I  have  been  proved,  we 

may  fairly  insist, 
The  most  virtuous  mortals  alive ! 
Now    Virtue,    we    know,    is    the 

brightest  of  pearls, 
But  as  Pleasure  is  hard  of  eva 
sion, 
Should  we  envy,  or  pity,  the  stoical 

churls 

Who  never  have  known  a  temp 
tation  ? 


LIP-SERVICE. 


JULIA  once  and  once  again, 
In  coquettish  fashion 


Heedless  of  her  lover's  pain, 
Mocked  his  burning  passion: 

"  Words  of  worship  lightly  fall 
From  a  courtier,  surely ; 

Mere  lip-service,  —  that  is  all !  " 
Said  the  maid,  demurely. 


Then  his  kisses  fell  like  dew 

(Just  where  Love  would  choose' 

'em) 

On  her  mouth;  and  through  and 
through 

Thrilled  her  glowing  bosom; 
Till  she  felt  —  nor  uttered  she 

Whisper  of  negation  — 
"  Mere  lip-service  "  still  may  b« 

Perfect  adoration! 


FAIKY    TALES     LEGENDS, 
APOLOGUES. 


FAIRY  TALES,  LEGENDS,  AND  APOLOGUES. 


FATHER  PUMPKIN ;    OR,  AL 
WAYS    IX    LUCK. 

AN   ARABIAN   TALE. 


IN  Cairo  once  there  dwelt  a  worthy 

man, 

Toilsome   and   frugal,    but   ex 
tremely  poor; 

"Howe'er,"     he    grumbled,     "I 

may  toil  and  plan, 
The  wolf  is  ever  howling  at  my 
door, 

While   arrant  rascals   thrive  and 
prosper;  hence 

I    much   misdoubt    the   ways    of 
Providence. 


"  Allah  is  Allah ;  and,  we  all  agree, 
Mohammed  is  his  Prophet.     Be 

it  so ; 
But  what  's  Mohammed  ever  done 

for  mo, 
To  boil  my  kettle,  I  should  like 

to  know? 
The   thieves    fare    better ;   and  I 

much  incline 
From  this  day  forth  to  make  their 

calling  mine." 


"  Dog  of  an  Arab!  "  cried  his  pi 
ous  spouse, 
D  you  would 
your  estate, 


ous  spouse, 
"  So  von  would  steal  to  better 


And  hasten  Allah's  vengeance! 

Shame !  arouse ! 
Why  sit  you  there  repining  at 

your  fate  ? 
Pray  to  the  Prophet,  —  sinner  that 

you  are,  — 

Then  wash  your  face  and  go  to  the 
Bazaar. 


"  Take  with  you  pen  and  paper 

and  a  book, 
And,  sitting  in  a  corner,  gravely 

make 
Some  mystic  scrawls;   put  on  a 

solemn  look, 
As   if   you   were    a    wise    and 

learned  sheik; 
And,  mark  my  word,  the  people 

in  a  trice 
Will  come  in  throngs  to  purchase 

your  advice." 


"'T  is  worth  a  trial,  woman,   I 

confess ; 
Things    can't    be   worse,"    the 

moody  Arab  said ; 
"  But  then,  alas !  I  have  no  proper 

dress, 
Not  e'en  a  turban  to  adorn  my 

head." 
"Allah  be  praised!"    Just  here 

the  woman  spied 
A  hollow  pumpkin  lying  at  her 

side. 


128      FATHER  PUMPKIN;    OR,   ALWAYS  IN  LUCK. 


''  See!  this  will  do!  "  and,  cutting 

it  in  twain, 
She  placed   the   half  upon  her 

husband's  pate; 
"'T  is  quaint  and  grave,  and  well 

befits  thy  brain, 
Most  reverend   muster,"    cried 

the  dame,  elate. 
''Now  to  thy  labor   hasten   thee 

away, 
And  thou  shalt  prosper  from  this 

very  day!  " 


Arid  so,  obedient  to  his  wife's  com 
mand, 

The  anxious  sheik  procured   a 
little  nook 

In  the  Bazaar,  where,  sitting  by  a 

stand, 

With  much  grimace   he   pored 
upon  his  book, 

Peering  around,  at  intervals,  to  spy 

A  customer,  if  such  a  thing  were 
nigh. 


And  soon,  indeed,  a  customer  ap 
peared, 

A  peasant  pale   and    sweating 
with  distress 

"Good    Father    Pumpkin!     may 

your  mighty  beard  " 
(Bowing  in  reverence)  "  be  nev 
er  less ! 

I  come  to  crave  your  counsel ;  for, 
alas ! 

Most  learned  Father,   I  have  lost 
my  ass." 


''Now,  curse  the  donkey!  "  cried 

the  puzzled  man, 
Unto  himself,  "and  curse  Fati- 
ma  too, 


Who  sent   me   here!   for,    do  the 

best  I  can, 
And  that  's  the  best  that  any 

one  can  do, 
I  'm   sure  to    blunder."     So,    in 

sheer  despair, 
He  named  the  graveyard;  "Seek 

your  donkey  there !  ' ' 

x. 

It  chanced  the  ass  that  very  mo 
ment  grazed 

Within   the   graveyard,    as    the 
sheik  had  told*; 

And  so   the   peasant,  joyful   and 

amazed, 

Gave   thanks   and   money;    nor 
could  he  withhold 

His  pious  prayers,  but,  bowing  to 
the  ground, 

Cried,  "  Great  is  Allah!  —  for  my 
ass  is  found !  ' ' 


"  Allah  is  Allah!  "  said  the  grate 
ful  sheik, 

Returning  homeward   with  his 
precious  fee; 

"  I  miiuh  rejoice  for  dear  Fatima's 

sake; 

Few  men,  in  sooth,  have  such  a 
mate  as  she, 

Most  wives  are  bosh,  or  worse  than 
bosh,  but  mine 

In  wit  and   beauty  is  almost  di 
vine!  " 

XII 

Next  day  he  hastened  early  to  his 

post, 

But  found  some  clients  had  ar 
rived  before ; 
One  eager  dame  a  skein  of  silk 

had  lost ; 

Another  money;    anu   a   dozen 
more, 


FATHER  PUMPKIN;    OR,   ALWAYS  IN  LUCK.      129 


Of  either  sex,  were  waiting  to  re 
cover 
A  fickle  mistress  or  a  truant  lover. 


With  solemn  face  the  sheik  replied 

to  each 
Whate'er  his  whim  might  move 

his  tongue  to  say; 
And  all  turned  out  according  to 

"his  speech; 
And  so  it  chanced  for  many  a 

lucky  day, 
i'iil    •*  Father    Pumpkin"  grew  a 

famous  seer, 
Whose  praise  had  even  reached  the 

Sultan's  ear. 


*•  Allah  is  Allah!  "  cried  the  hap 
py  sheik ; 

"  And  nevermore,  Fatima,  will 
I  doubt 

Mohammed  is  his  prophet;  let  us 

take 

Our      case      henceforward  —  " 
Here  a  sudden  shout 

Announced  the  Sultan's  janizaries, 
sent, 

Thev   said,    to    seize    him,  —  but 
with  kind  intent. 


The    Grand    Seraglio   has    been 

robbed  by  knaves 
Of  all  the  royal  jewels;  and  the 

Porte, 
To   get   them   back    again,    your 

presence  craves 
In  Stamboul ;    he  will  pay  you 

richly  for  't, 
If    you   succeed;    if   not,  —  why 

then,  instead 

Of  getting  money,   you  will   lose 
your  head. " 


XVI. 

11  My  curse  upon  thee !  "  cried  the 

angry  man 
Unto  Fatima;  "see    what  thou 

hast  done ! 
0    woman,    woman !     since     the 

world  began 
All  direst  mischiefs  underneath 

the  sun 
Are  woman's  doing — "  Here  the 

Sultan's  throng 
Of  janizaries    bade   him,   "  Come 

along!  " 

XVII. 

The  seer's  arrival  being  now  pro 
claimed 

Throughout  the  capital,  the  rob 
bers  quake 

With    very   fear;  while,  trembling 

and  ashamed. 

In  deeper  terror  sits  the  wretched 
sheik, 

Cursing  Fatima  for  a  wicked  wife 

Whose  rash  ambition  has  betrayed 
his  life. 

XVIII. 

"  But  seven  short  days  my  sands 

have  yet  to  run, 

And  then,  alas!  I  lose  my  fool- 
Mi  head; 

These  seven  white  beans  I  '11  swal 
low,  one  by  one, 

To  mark  each  passing  day  ere  I 
am  dead. 

Alas !  alas !  the  Sultan's  hard  de 
cree  ! 

The  sun  is  setting  :  there  yoes  one  !  " 
said  he. 


Just  then  a  thief  (the  leader  of  the 

band 

That  stole  the    Sultan's  jewels) 
passing  by, 


130     FATHER  PUMPKIN;    OR,  ALWAYS   IN  LUCK 


Heard   the  remark,    and   saw  the 

lifted  hand, 
And  ran  away  as  fast  as  he  could 

fly. 

To  tell  his   comrades  that,  beyond 

a  doubt, 
The  cunning  seer  had  fairly  found 

him  out. 


Next  day  another,  ere  the  hour  was 

dark, 
Passed  by  the  casement  where 

the  sheik  was  seen ; 
His  hand  was  lifted  warningly,  and 


"  There  goes  a  second  !  "  (swal 
lowing  the  bean.) 

The  robber  fled,  amazed,  and  told 
the  crew 

'T  was  time  to  counsel  what  were 
best  to  do. 


But  still,  —  as  if  the  faintest  doubt 

to  cure,  — 
The  following   eve   the   robbers 

sent  a  third; 
And  so  till  six  had  made  the  matter 


(For  unto  each  the   same   event 

occurred), 
When,  taking  counsel,  they  at  once 

agreed 
To  seek  the  wizard  and  confess  the 

deed. 


XXII. 

"  Most  reverend  Father,"  thus  the 

chief  began, 
"  Thy  thoughts   are  just;     thy 

spoken  words  are  true  ; 
To  hide  from  thee  surpasses  mor 

tal  man  : 

Our  evil  works  henceforward  we 
eschew, 


For  now   we   know  that  sinning 

never  thrives  ; 
Here,  take  the  jewels,  but  0,  spare 

our  lives!  " 


"The    law    enjoins,"    the  joyful 

sheik  replied, 
"That  bloody  Death  shall   end 

the  robber's  days  ; 
But,  that  your  sudden  virtue  may 

be  tried, 
Swear  on   the  Koran   you    will 

mend  your  ways, 
And  then  depart.  "     The  robbers 

roundly  swore, 
In  Allah's  name,  that  they   would 

rob  no  more. 


"Allah  is  Allah !  "  cried  the  grate 
ful  sheik, 

Holding  the  jewels  in  the  vizier's 
face. 

The  vizier    answered,     "  Sir,    be 

pleased  to  take 

The  casket  to  the  Sultan.    "  No, 
your  Grace," 

The  sheik  replied,  "  the  gems  are 
here,  you  see ; 

Pray  tell  the  Sultan  he  may  come 
to  me !  " 


The  Sultan  came,  and,  ravished  to 

behold 
The  precious  jewels  to  his  hand 

restored, 
He  made  the  finder  rich  in  thanks 

and  gold, 
And  on  the  instant  pledged  his 

royal  word, 
And   straight   confirmed  it  in  the 

Prophet's  name, 
To  grant  whatever  he  might  choose 

to  claim. 


THE  KfNG  AND    THE   COTTAGER. 


131 


XXVI- 

"  Sire  of  the  Faithful !  publish    a 

decree  " 
(The  sheik  made  answer;  "and 

proclaim  to  all 
That   none   henceforth   shall  ever 

question  me 
Of  any  matter  either    great  or 

small; 
I  ask  no  more.     So  shall  my  labors 

cease : 
My  waning  life  1  fain  would  spend 

in  peace." 

XXVII. 

The  Sultan  answered :  "  Be  it  even 

so; 
And  may  your  beard  increase  a 

thousand-fold; 
And  may  your  house  with  children 

overflow!  " 
And  so  the  sheik,  o'erwhelmed 

with  praise  and  gold, 
Returned  unto  the  city  whence  he 

came, 
Blessing   Mohammed's    and   Fati- 

ma's  name  ! 


THE     KING    AND    THE    COT 
TAGER. 

A   PERSIAN    LEGEND. 


PRAY  list  unto  a  legend 
The  ancient  poets  tell; 

'T  is  of  a  mighty  monarch 
In  Persia  once  did  dwell: 

A  mighty  queer  old  monarch 
Who  ruled  his  kingdom  well. 


"  I  must  build  another  palace," 
Observed  this  mighty  King; 


"For  this  is  getting  shabby 
Along  the  southern  wing; 

And,  really,  for  a  monarch, 
It  is  n't  quite  the  thing. 


"  So  I  will  have  a  new  one, 

Although  1  greatly  fear, 
To  build  it  just  to  suit  me, 

Will  cost  me  rather  dear; 
And  I  '11  choose,  God  wot,  another 
spot, 

Much  finer  than  this  here." 


So  he  travelled  o'er  his  kingdom 

A  proper  site  to  find, 
Where  he  might  build  a  palace 

Exactly  to  his  mind, 
All  with  a  pleasant  prospect 

Before  it,  and  behind. 


Not  long  with  this  endeavor 
The  King  had  travelled  round, 

Ere,  to  his  royal  pleasure, 
A  charming  spot  he  found; 

But  an  ancient  widow's  cabin 
Was  standing  on  the  ground. 


"Ah!  here,"  exclaimed  the  mon 
arch, 

"  Is  just  the  proper  spot, 
If  this  woman  would  allow  me 

To  remove  her  little  cot." 
But  the  beldam  answered  plainly, 

She  had  rather  he  would  not  f 


•'  Within  this  lonely  cottage, 
Great  Monarch,  I  was  born; 

And  only  from  this  cottage 
By  Death  will  I  be  torn: 

So  spare  it  in  your  ustice, 
Or  spoil  it  in  your  scorn !  " 


132 


THE  KING  AND    THE   COTTAGER. 


Then  sill  the  courtiers  mocked  her, 
With  cruel  words  and  jeers:  — 

"  'T  is  plain  her  royal  master 
She  neither  loves  nor  fears; 

We  would  knock  her  ugly  hovel 
About  her  ugly  ears ! 


''  When  ever  was  a  subject 

Who  might  the  King 'withstand? 

Or  deem  his  spoken  pleasure 
As  less  than  his  command  V 

Of  course  he  '11  rout  the  beldam, 
And  confiscate  her  land !  " 


But,  to  their  deep  amazement, 

His  Majesty  replied: 
"  Good  woman,  never  heed  them, 

The  King  is  on  your  side ; 
Your  cottage  is  your  castle, 

And  here  you  shall  abide. 


"  To  raze  it  in  a  moment, 
The  power  is  mine,  I  grant; 

My  absolute  dominion 
A  hundred  poets  chant; 

For  being  Khan  of  Persia, 
There  's  nothing  that  I  can't ! 


('T  was  in  this  pleasant  fashion 
The  mighty  monarch  spoke  ; 

For  kings  have  merry  fancies 
Like  other  mortal  folk: 

And  none  so  high  and  mighty 
But  loves  his  little  joke.) 

XIII. 

"  But  power  is  scarcely  worthy 

Of  honor  or  applause, 
That  in  its  domination 

Contemns  the  widow's  cause, 


Or  perpetrates  injustice 
By  trampling  on  the  laws. 

XIV. 

"  That  I  have  wronged  the  mean 
est 

No  honest  tongue  may  say : 
So  bide  you  in  your  cottage, 

Good  woman,  while  you  may; 
What 's  yours  by  deed  and  pur- 

chase 
No  man  may  take  away. 


"  And  I  will  build  beside  it, 
For  though  your  cot  may  be 

In  such  a  lordly  presence 
No  fitting  thing  to  see, 

If  it  honor  not  my  castle, 
It  will  surely  honor  me! 


"  For  so  my  loyal  people, 
Who  gaze  upon  the  sight, 

Shall  know  that  in  oppression 
I  do  not  take  delight; 

Nor  hold  a  king's  convenience 
Before  a  subject's  right." 


Now  from  his  spoken  purpose 
The  King  departed  not; 

He  built  the  royal  dwelling 
Upon  the  chosen  spot, 

And  there  they  stood  together^ 
The  palace  and  the  cot. 

XVIII. 

Sure  such  unseemly  neighbors 
Were  never  seen  before; 

"His  Majesty  is/loting," 
His  silly  courtiers  swore ; 

But  nil  true  loyal  subjects, 
They  loved  the  King  the  more. 


THE   YOUTH  AND    THE  NORTIIWJND. 


133 


Long,  long  he  ruled  his  kingdom 

In  honor  and  renown; 
But  danger  ever  threatens 

The  head  that  wears  a  crown, 
And  Fortune,  tired  of  smiling, 

For  onee  put  on  a  frown. 


For  over  secret  Envy 
Attends  a  high  estate; 

And  ever  lurking  Malice 
1'ursues  the  good  and  great; 

And  ever  base  Ambition 
Will  end  in  deadly  Hate. 


And  so  two  wicked  courtiers, 
Who  long  had  strove  in  vain, 

By  craft  and  evil  counsels, 
To  mar  the  monarch's  reign, 

Contrived  a  scheme  infernal 
Whereby  he  should  be  slain. 


But  as  all  deeds  of  darkness 
Are  wont  to  leave  a  clew 

Before  the  glaring  sunlight 
To  bring  the  knaves  to  view, 

That  sin  may  be  rewarded, 
And  Satan  get  his  due,  — 

XXIII. 

To  plan  their  wicked  treason, 
They  sought  a  lonely  spot 

Behind  the  royal  palace, 
Hard  by  the  widow's  cot, 

Who  heard  their  machinations, 
And  straight  revealed  the  plot! 


u  I  see,"  exclaimed  the  Persian, 
"  The  just  are  wise  alone; 


Who  spares  the  rights  of  others 
May  chance  to  guard  his  own; 

The  widow's  humble  cottage 
Has      propped      a      monarch's 
throne!  ' 


THE   YOUTH   AND   THE 
NOBTHWIND. 

A   TALE  OF   NORWAY. 

OVCE  on   a    time  —  't   was    long 

ago  — 

There  lived  a  worthy  dame 
Who  sent  her  son  to  fetch  some 

Hour, 
For  she  was  old  and  lame. 

But  while  he  loitered  on  the  road, 
The  Xorthwind  chanced  to  stray 

.Across  the  careless  younker's  path, 
And  stole  the  flour  away. 

"Alas!    what    shall    we    do    for 

bread '{  " 

Exclaimed  the  weeping  lad; 
"  The  flour  is  gone,  —  the  flour  is 

gone,  — 
And  it  was  all  we  had !  " 

And  so  he  sought  the  Northwind's 

cave, 

Beside  the  distant  main; 
"  Good   Mister  Boreas,"  said   the 

lad, 
"  I  want  my  flour  again." 

"  'T    was    all    we    had    to     live 
upon,  — 

My  mother  old  and  I ; 
0  give  us  back  the  flour  again, 

Or  we  shall  surely  die!  " 


134 


THE   YOUTH  AND   THE  NORTH  WIND. 


"I  have   it  not,"  the  Northwind 
growled ; 

"  But,  for  your  lack  of  bread, 
I  give  to  you  this  table-cloth; 

'T  will  serve  you  well  instead; 

"  For  you  have  but  to  spread  it 

out, 

And  every  costly  dish 
Will  straight  appear  at  your  com 
mand, 
Whatever  you  may  wish." 

The  lad  received  the  magic  cloth 
With  wonder  and  delight, 

And  thanked  the  donor  heartily, 
As  well,  indeed,  he  might. 

Returning  homeward,  at  an  inn 
Just  half  his  journey  through, 

He  fain  must  show  his  table-cloth, 
And  what  the  cloth  could  do. 

So   while    he    slept    the    knavish 

host 

Went  slyly  to  his  bed, 
And  stole  the  cloth,  —  but  shrewd 
ly  placed 
Another  in  its  stead. 

Unknowing  what  the   rogue  had 
done, 

The  lad  went  on  his  way, 
And  came  unto  his  journey's  end 

Just  at  the  close  of  day. 

He   showed   the  dame  his   table 
cloth, 

And  told  her  of  its  power; 
"  Good  sooth !  "  he  cried,  "  't  was 

well  for  us 
The  Northwind  stole  the  flour." 

"Perhaps,"   exclaimed   the   cau 
tious  crone, 

"  The  story  may  be  true ; 
'T  is  mighty  little  good,  I  ween, 

Your  table-cloth  can  do." 


And  now  the   younker   spread  it 
forth, 

And  tried  the  spell.     Alas! 
'T  was  but  a  common  table-cloth, 

And  nothing  came  to  pass 

Then  to  the  Northwind,  far  away, 
He  sped  with  might  and  main; 

"  Your    table-cloth     is    good  for 

naught; 
I  want  my  flour  again!  " 

"I  have  it  not,"  the  Xorthwind 
growled, 

"  But,  for  your  lack  of  bread, 
I  give  to  you  this  little  goat, 

'T  will  serve  you  well  instead. 

"  For  yon  have   but  to  tell  him 
this :  — 

'  Make  money,  Master  Bill ! ' 
And  he  will  give  you  golden  coins, 

As  many  as  you  will." 

The  lad  received  the  magic  goat 
With  wonder  and  delight, 

And  thanked  the  donor  heartily, 
As  well,  indeed,  he  might. 

Returning  homeward,  at  the  inn 
Just  half  his  journey  through, 

He  fain  must  show  his  little  goat, 
And  what  the  goat  could  do. 

So  while  he  slept  the  knavish  host 

Went  slyly  to  the  shed, 
And  stole  the  goat.  —  but  shrewdly 
placed 

Another  in  his  stead. 

Unknowing  what  the    rogue  had 

done, 

The  youth  went  on  his  way, 
And  reached  his   weary  journey'* 

end 
Just  at  the  close  of  day. 


THE  BLIND  MAN  AND    TUP:  ELEPHANT. 


135 


He   showed  the  dame   his   magic 

goat, 

And  told  her  of  his  power; 
''  Good  sooth !  "  he  cried,  "'twas 

well  for  us 
The  Northwind  stole  the  flour." 

"  I   much    misdoubt,"    the   dame 
replied, 

"  Your  wondrous  tale  is  true; 
"1"  is  little  good,  for  hungry  folk, 

Your  silly  goat  can  do!  " 

"Good   Master  Bill,"  the  lad  ex 
claimed, 

"Make  money!  "  but.  alas! 
'T  was  nothing  but  a  common  goat, 

And  nothing  came  to  pass. 

Then  to  the  Northwind,  angrily, 
He  sped  with  might  and  main  ; 

"  Your   foolish     goat   is   good   for 

naught; 
I  want  my  flour  again  !  " 

"I  have    it  not,"    the   Northwind 

growled, 

"Nor  can  I  give  you  aught, 
Except    this   cudgel,  —  which,  in 
deed, 
A  magic  charm  has  got ; 

"  For  you  have  but  to  tell  it  this: 
'  My  cudgel,  hit  away !  ' 

And,  till  you  bid  it  stop  again, 
The  cudgel  will  obey." 

Returning  home,  he  stopt  at  night 
Where  lie  had  lodged  before; 

And  feigning  to  be  fast  asleep, 
He  soon  began  to  snore. 

And  when  the  host  would  steal  the 
staff, 

The  sleeper  muttered,  "  Stay, 
I  v;e  what  vou  would  fain  be  at; 

Good  cudgel,  hit  away !  " 


The    cudgel    thumped   about   his 
ears, 

Till  he  began  to  cry, 
'  0  stop  the  staff,  for  mercy's  sake ! 

Or  1  shall  surely  die!  " 

But  still  the  cudgel  thumped  away 

Until  the  rascal  said, 
"I  '11  give  you  back  the  cloth  and 
goat,' 

0  spare  my  broken  head!  " 

And  so  it  was  the  lad  reclaimed 
His  table-cloth  and  goat  ; 

And,  growing  rich,  at  length  be 
came 
A  man  of  famous  note ; 

He  kept  his  mother  tenderly, 
And  cheered  her  waning  life  ; 

And   married  —  as  you  may  sup 
pose — 
A  princess  for  a  wife; 

And  while  he  lived  had  ever  near, 

To  favor  worthy  ends, 
A  cudgel  for  his  enemies, 

And  money  for  his  friends. 


THE    BLIND    MEN    AND    THE 
ELEPHANT. 

A    HINDOO  FABLE. 


IT  was  six  men  of  Indostan 
To  learning  much  inclined, 

Who  went  to  see  the  Elephant 
(Though  all  of  them  were  blind), 

That  each  by  observation 
Might  satisfy  his  mind. 


The    First    approached    the   Ele 
phant, 
And  happening  to  fall 


136 


THE   TREASURE   OF   GOLD. 


Against  his  broad  and  sturdy  side, 

At  once  began  to  bawl: 
"God    bless    me!    but    the    Ele 
phant 

Is  very  like  a  wall !  " 


The  Second,  feeling  of  the  tusk, 
Cried,    "Ho!     what    have    we 

here 
So   very    round   and   smooth  and 

sharp  ? 

To  me  't  is  mighty  clear 
This  wonder  of  an  Elephant 
Is  very  like  a  spear!  " 


The  Third  approached  the  animal, 

And  happening  to  take 
The  squirming   trunk   within  his 
hands, 

Thus  boldly  up  and  spake  : 
"  I  see,"  quoth  lie,  "  the  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  snake!  " 


The  Fourth  reached  out  his  eager 

hand, 

And  felt  about  the  knee. 
"  What  most  this  wondrous  beast 

is  like 

Is  mighty  plain,"  quoth  he; 
"  'T  is  clear  enough  the  Elephant 
Is  verv  like  a  tree  !  " 


The  Fifth,  who  chanced  to  touch 
the  ear, 

Said:  "E'en  the  blindest  man 
Can  tell  what  this  resembles  most; 

Deny  the  fact  who  can, 
This  marvel  of  an  Elephant 

Is  very  like  a  fan!  " 


The  Sixth  no  sooner  had  begun 
About  the  beast  to  grope, 

Than,  seizing  on  the  swinging  tail 
That  fell  within  his  scope, 

"I  see,"  quoth  he,  "the  Elephant 
Is  very  like  a  rope !  " 


And  so  these  men  of  Indostan 
Disputed  loud  arid  long, 

Each  in  his  own  opinion 
Exceeding  still'  and  strong, 

Though  each    was   partly   in   the 

right, 
And  all  were  in  the  wrong ! 


So  oft  in  theologic  wars, ' 
The  disputants,  I  ween, 

Rail  on  in  utter  ignorance 
Of  what  each  other  mean, 

And  prate  about  an  Elephant 
Not  one  of  them  has  seen  ! 


THE  TREASURE  OF  GOLD. 

A   LEGEND   OF   ITALY. 
I. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  story,  my  darlings, 
Though  exceeding!  v  quaint  and 
old, 

Is  a  tale  I  have  read  in  Italian, 
Entitled,  The  Treasure  of  Gold. 


There  lived  near  the  town  of  Bo 

logna 
A  widow  of  virtuous  fame, 


Till-:    TREASURE    OF   GOLD. 


137 


Alone  with  her  only   daughter,  — 
Madonna  Lucrezia  bv  name. 


A  lady  whom  changing  fortune 

Had  numbered  among  the  poor; 
And  she  kept  an  inn  by  the  way 
side, 

For     the    use    of    peasant    and 
boor. 


One  day  at  the  door  of  the  tavern 
Three  roving  banditti  appeared, 

And  one  was  a  wily  Venetian, 
To  guess  by  his  curious  beard. 


And  he  spoke  to  the  waiting  host 
ess 

In  phrases  exceedingly  fine, 
And    sat   himself  down   with  his 

fellows, 
And  called  for  a  flagon  of  wine. 


At  length,  after  deeply  discoursing 
In  voices  suspiciously  low, 

The  travellers  rose  from  the  table, 
And  made  preparation  to  go. 


"Madonna,"    up    spoke    the   Ve 
netian, 
"Pray   do  us   the   kindness    to 

hold 

Awhile,  for  our  better  convenience, 
This  snug  little  treasure  of  gold." 

VIII. 

"Indeed,"  said  the  smiling  Lucre 
zia, 

"  You  're  welcome   to   leave  it, 
—  but  stay; 


I  have  never  a  lock  in  my  hovel, 
And  the  bag  may  be  stolen  away. 


"Besides,"  said  the  woman,  "con 
sider, 

There  's  no  one  the  fact  to  attest j 
In  pledge  for  so  precious  a  treasure 
You  have  only  my  word,  at  the 
best." 


"In  faith  !"  said  the  civil   Vene 
tian, 

"  We  have  n't  a  morsel  of  fear; 
But    to    guard   against    awkward 

mischances, 

Let   the   matter  in   writing  ap 
pear.  " 

XI. 

And  this  -was  a  part  of  the  writing 
She  gave  the  banditti  to  hold:  . 

"  Not  to  one,  nor  to  two,  but  to  all 
Will  ]  render  the  treasure  of 
gold." 


Now  the  robbers  were  scarcely  de 
parted 
When     the    cunning     Venetian 

came  back, 
With,    "Madam,    allow    me    the 

favor 
Of  putting  my  seal  to  the  sack." 


XIII. 

But  the  moment  she  gave  him  the 

treasure, 

A  horseman  rode  up,  and  behold ! 
While  the  woman  went  out  to  at 
tend  him, 
The  villain  ran  off  with  the  gold,1 


138 


THE   TREASURE   OF   GOLD. 


"Alas!"  cried  the  widow,  in  an 
guish, 

"  Alas  for  my  daughter  forlorn  ; 
I  would  we  had  perished  together, 

The  day  Giannetta  was  born !  " 


In  sooth,  she  had  reason  for  sorrow, 

Although  it  were  idle  to  weep  ; 
She  was  sued  in  the  court  of  Bo 

logna 

For  the  money  she  promised  to 
keep. 

XVI. 

''Now  go,  Giannetta,"  she  faltered, 
"  To  one  that  is  versed  in  the 
laws  ; 

But  stop  at  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin, 
And  beg  her  to  favor  our  cause.  " 


Alas  for  Madonna  Lucrezia  ! 

In  vain  Giannetta  applied 
To  each  lawyer  of  note  in  the  city  ; 

They  were  all  on  the   opposite 
"side  ! 


At  last,  as  the  sorrowing  maiden 
Sat  pondering  her  misery  over, 
And  breathing  a  prayer  to  the  Vir 
gin, 

She   thought    of   Lorenzo,    her 
lover; 


A  student  well  read  in  the  statutes, 
According  to  common  report. 

But  one  who,  from  modest  aver 
sion, 
Had  never  appeared  in  the  court. 


"I  '11  try!  "  said  the  faithful  Lo 
renzo, 
After     hearing     her     narrative 

through, 
"  And  for  strength  in  the  hour  of 

trial, 
I  '11  think,  Giannetta,  of  you !  " 


Next  morning  the  judges  assem 
bled; 
The  claimants'   attorneys  were 

heard, 

And  gave  a  most  plausible  version 
Of  how  the  transaction  occurred ; 


Then  showed,  by  the  widow's  con 
fession, 
She   had   taken    the   monev   to 

hold, 
And    proved    that,    though  often 

requested, 
She  failed  to  surrender  the  gold. 


The  judges  seemed  fairly  impatient 

To  utter  the  fatal  decree, 
When,  lo!  the  young  student  Lo 
renzo 

Stands   up,    and    commences   a 
plea :  — 


"Your   Honors!    I  speak  for  the 

widow ; 

Some   words  have   been   (care 
lessly)  said 

Concerning  a  written  agreement; 
I  ask  that  the  writing  be  read  " 


"  Of  course,"  said  the  Court,  "  it 

is  proper 
The  writing  appear  in  the  case; 


THE  NOBLEMAN,  FISHERMAN,  AND  PORTER.        139 


The  sense  of  a  written  agreement 
May  give  it  a  different  face.'1 


"  Observe,"  said  the  student,  "  the 

bargain 
To    which    we    are    willing  to 

hold,  — 

'  Not  to  one,  nor  to  two,  but  to  all, 
Will   I   render   the    treasure  of 
-  gold. ' 


"  We  stand  by  the  writing,  your 

Honors, 

And  candidly  ask  of  you  whether 
These   fellows   can  sue   for  their 

money 

Till  they  come  and  demand  it 
together?  " 

XXVIII. 

And  so  it  was  presently  settled, 
For  so  did  the  judges  decide; 
And  great  was  the  joy  of  the  wid 
ow, 

And   great  was  her  daughter's 
pride, 


And  fast  grew  the  fame  of  Lorenzo, 
For  making  so  clever  a  plea, 

fill  never  in  all  Bologna 
Was  lawyer  so  wealthy  as  he. 


And  he  married  his  own  Giannetta, 

As  the  story  is  pleasingly  told; 

And  such  were  the  bane  and  the 

blessing 

That  came  of  the  Treasure    of 
Gold! 


I    THF  NOBLEMAN,   THE   FISH 
ERMAN,  AND  THE  PORTER. 

AN   ITALIAN    LEGEND. 


IT  was  a  famous  nobleman 
Who  flourished  in  the  East, 

And  once,  upon  a  holiday, 
He  made  a  goodly  feast, 

And  summoned  in  of  kith  and  kin 
A  hundred  at  the  least. 


Now  while  they  sat  in  social  chat 
Discoursing  frank  and  free. 

In  came  the  steward,  with  a  bdw, 
"  A  man  below,"  said  he, 

"  Has  got,  my  lord,  the  finest  fish 
That  ever  swam  the  sea!  " 

in. 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  noble 
man, 

"  Then  buy  it  in  a  trice; 
The  finest  fish  that  ever  swam 

Must  needs  be  very  nice; 
Go,  buy  it  of  the  fisherman, 

And  never  mind  the  price." 


"  And   so  I  would,"  the  steward 

said, 

"  But,  faith,  he  would  n't  hear 
A  word  of  money  for  his  fish, 
(Was  ever  man  so  queer?) 
But   said    he   thought  a  hundred 

stripes 
Could  not  be  counted  dear!  " 


"Go   bring   him   here,"  my  lord 

replied; 
"The  man  I  fain  would  see; 


140      THE  NOBLEMAN,  FISHERMAN,  AND  PORTER. 


A  merry  wag,  by  your  report, 
This  fisherman  must  be." 

"Go  bring  him  here!     Go  bring 

him  here!  " 
Cried  all  the  company. 


The  steward  did  as  he  was  bid, 

When  thus  my  lord  began: 
"  For  this  fine  fish  what  may  you 

wish? 

I  '11  buy  it,  if  I  can." 
"  One     hundred    lashes    on    my 

back!" 
Exclaimed  the  fisherman. 


"Now,  by  the  Rood!  but  this  is 
good," 

The  laughing  lord  replied; 
"  Well,  let  the  fellow  have  his  way ; 

Go,  call  a  groom!  "  he  cried; 
"  But  let  the  payment  he  demands 

Be  modestly  applied." 


He  bared  his  back  and  took  the 
lash 

As  it  were  merry  play; 
But  at  the  fiftieth  stroke,  he  said, 

"  Good  master  groom,  I  pray 
Desist  a  moment,  if  you  please; 

I  have  a  word  to  say. 


"  I  have  a  partner  in  the  case,  — 
The  fellow  standing  there; 

Pray  take  the  jacket  off  his  back, 
And  let  him  have  his  share ; 

That  one  of  us  should  take   the 

whole 
Were  surely  hardly  fair!  " 


"A  partner?"   cried   the  noble 
man, 

"  Who  can  the  fellow  mean?  " 
"  I  mean,"  replied  the  fisherman, 

With  countenance  serene, 
"  Your  porter  there!  the  biggest 

knave 
That  ever  vet  was  seen. 


"  The  rogue  who  stopped  me  at 

the  gate, 

And  would  n't  let  me  in 
Until  I  swore  to  give  him  half 

Of  all  my  fish  should  win. 
I've  (jot  my  share!  Fray  let,  my 

lord, 
His  payment  now  begin!  " 


"  What    you   propose,"    my  lord 

replied, 

"  Is  nothing  more  than  fair; 
Here,  groom,  —  lay  on  a  hundred 

stripes, 

And  mind  you  do  not  spare. 

The  scurvy  dog  shall  never  say 

He  did  n't  get  his  share!  " 


Then  all  that  goodly  company 
They  laughed  with   might  and 

main, 
The  while  beneath  the  stinging  lash 

The  porter  writhed  in  pain. 
"So  fare  all  villains,"  quoth  my 

lord, 
"  Who  seek  dishonest  gain !  " 


Then,  turning  to  the  fisherman, 
Who  still  was  standing  near, 


THE  DERV18  AND    THE  KING. 


141 


He  filled    his  hand   with    golden 

coins, 

Some  twenty  sequins  clear, 
And  bade  him  come  and  take  the 

like 
On  each  succeed  ing  vear. 


THE  DERVIS  AND  THE  KING. 

A  TURKISH   TALE. 

A  PIOUS  Dervis,  once  upon  a  time, 
Of  :ill  his  sect  the  wisest  and  the 

best, 
Journeyed,  on  foot,  through  many 

u  foreign  clime. 

To  serve  his  Muster  in  some  holy 
quest 

And  so  it  chanced  that  on  a  certain 

day, 
While    plodding   wearily   along 

the  road, 

He  saw  before  him,  near  the  pub 
lic  way. 

The  house  wherein   the  Tartar 
King  abode. 

Musing  the  while  on  some  absorb 
ing  thought 
That  quite  engrossed  the  pious 

pilgrim's  mind, 
The    palace   seemed — just    what 

the  Dervis  sought  — 
A    caravansary    of    the   better 
kind. 

Entering  the  palace  by  an  open 

door, 
Straight  to  the  gallery  the  Dervis 

goes, 
Lays  down  his  meagre  wallet  on 

the  floor, 

And  spreads  his   blanket  for  a 
night's  repose. 


It  chanced  the  King,  soon  after, 

passing  by, 
Observed  the  man,  and  with  an 

angry  air, 

As  one  who  sees  a  robber  or  a  spy, 
Bade  him  avow  what  business 
brought  him  there. 

"  My  business  here,"  the  Dervis 

meekly  said, 
"Is  but  to  rest,  as  any  traveller 

might; 
In  this  good  tavern  I  have  made 

my  bed, 
And  here  I  mean  to  tarry  for  the 

night." 

"  A  caravansary  —  eh  ?  "  the  King 

exclaimed 
(His  visage  mantling  with  a  royal 

grin), 
"  Now  look  around  you,  man,  and 

be  ashamed! 

How  could  you  take  my  palace 
for  an  inn?  " 

"  Sire,"  said   the    Dervis   (seeing 

his  mistake), 
"  I  purpose  presently  to  answer 

this; 
But  grant  me,  first,  the  liberty  to 

make 

Some  brief  inquiries,  if 't  is  not 
amiss. 

"  Pray  tell  me,  Sire,  who  first  re 
sided  here  V  " 

"My  ancestors,  —  as   the  tradi 
tion  goes." 
"Who    next?"    "  My   father,— 

that  is  very  clear.  " 
"Who  next?"  "Myself,  —  as 
everybody  knows." 

"And    who  —  Heaven  grant  you 

many  years  to  reign !  — 
Will  occupy  the  house  when  you 
have  done  ?  " 


142 


THE   MONARCH  AMD   THE  MARQUIS. 


"  Why,"  said  the  monarch,  "  that 

is  very  plain.  — 
Of  course  't  will  be  the   Prince, 

my  only  son!  " 

"  Sire,"  said  the  Dervis,  gravel}', 

"  I  protest,  — 
Whate'er  the  building  you  may 

choose  to  call,  — 
A  house  that  knows  so    many   a 

transient  guest, 

Is     but     a    caravansary,    after 
all!" 


THE  MONARCH  AND  THE 
MARQUIS. 

AN  ORIENTAL   LEGEND. 


IT  was  a  merry  monarch 
Who  ruled  a  distant  land, 

And  ever,  for  his  pastime, 
Some  new  device  he  planned, 

And  once,  to  all  his  servants, 
He  gave  this  queer  command. 


Quoth  he:  "To  every  stranger 
Who  comes  unto  my  court 

Let  a  fried  fish  be  given, 
And  of  the  finest  sort; 

Then  mark  the  man's  behavior, 
And  bring  me  due  report. 


"  If,  when  the  man  has  eaten 
The  fish  unto  the  bone, 

The  glutton  turns  it  over,  — 
Then,  by  my  royal  throne, 

For  this,  his  misdemeanor. 
The  gallows  shall  atone!  " 


Now  when  this  regal  mandate, 

According  to  report, 
Had  slain  a  score  of  strangers, 

To  serve  the  monarch's  sport, 
It  chanced  a  gay  young  Marquis 

Came  to  the  roval  court. 


His  Majesty  received  him 
As  suited  with  his  state, 

But  when  he  sat  at  dinner, 
The  fish  was  on  the  plate; 

Alas !  he  turns  it  over, 
Unconscious  of  his  fate. 


Then,  to  his  dire  amazement, 
Three  guardsmen,  standing  nigh. 

Conveyed  him  straight  to  prison, 
And  plainly  told  him  why,  — 

And  how,  in  retribution, 
That  he  was  doomed  to  die ! 


The  Marquis,  filled  with  sorrow, 
Implored  the  monarch's  ruth, 

Whereat  the  King  relented 
(A  gracious  deed,  in  sooth!) 

And  granted  these  conditions, 
In  pity  of  his  youth :  — 


That  for  three  days  the  culprit 
Should  have  the  King's  reprieve, 

Also,  to  name  three  wishes 
The  prisoner  had  leave, — 

One  each  succeeding  morning.  — 
The  which  he  should  receive. 


"  Thanks!  "  said  the  grateful  Mar 

quis, 
" His  Majesty  is  kind; 


THE  MONARCH  AND    THE  MARQUIS. 


143 


And,  first,  to  wed  his  daughter 
Is  what  I  have  in  mind; 

Go,  bid  him  fetch  a  parson 
The  holy  tie  to  bind." 


Now  when  the  merry  monarch 
This  bold  demand  had  heard, 

With  grief  and  indignation 
His  royal  breast  was  stirred  ; 

But  he  had  pledged  his  honor, 
And  so  he  kept  his  word. 


Now,  if  the  first  petition 
He  reckoned  rather  bold, 

What  was  the  King's  amazement 
To  hear  the  second  told,  — 

To  wit,  the  inr narch's  treasure 
Of  silver  and  of  gold ! 


To  beg  the  culprit's  mercy 
This  mighty  King  was  fain; 

But  pleading  and  remonstrance 
Were  uttered  all  in  vain  ; 

And  so  lie  gave  the  treasure 
It  cost  him  years  to  gain. 


Sure  ne'er  was  mortal  monarch 
In  such  dismay  as  he ! 

He  woke  next,  morning  early 
And  went  himself  to  see 

What,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 
The  third  demand  would  be. 


"  I  ask,"  replied  the  Marquis, 
"  (My  third  and  final  wish), 

That  you  should  call  the  servants 
Who  served  the  fatal  dish, 

And  have  the  eyes  extinguished 
That  suw  me  turn  the  fish." 


"  Good  !  "  said  the  monarch  gayly, 

With  obvious  delight, 
"What  you  demand,  Sir  Marquis, 

Is  reasonable,  quite; 
That  they  should  pay  this  forfeit 

Is  nothing  more  than  right. 

XVI. 

"  How   was    it,  —  Mr.    Chamber 
lain?" 

But  he  at  once  denied 
That  he  had  seen  the  culprit 

Turn  up  the  other  side; 
"  It  must  have  been  the  Steward," 

The  Chamberlain  replied. 

XVII. 

"  Indeed  !    exclaimed  the  Steward, 

"  It  surely  was  n't  I ! 
It  must  have  been  the  Butler  "  — 

Who  quickly  made  reply, 
"  It  must  have   been  the    guards 
men, 

Unless  the  fellows  lie!  " 

XVIII. 

But  they,  in  turn,  protested, 
With  plausible  surprise, 

(And  dreadful  imprecations, 
If  they  were  telling  lies!) 

That  nothing  of  the  matter 
Had  come  before  their  eyes. 

XIX. 

"  Good    father,"   said  the  Prin 
cess, 

"  I  pray  you  ponder  this," 
(And  here  she  gave  the  monarch 

A  reverential  kiss,; 
"My  husband  must  be  guiltless, 

If  none  saw  aught  amiss !  " 


The  monarch  frowned  a  little. 
And  gravely  shook  his  head : 


144 


THE   CALIPH  AND    THE   CRIPPLE. 


"Your   Marquis   should   be   pun-   i    The  beggar  got  up,  and  together 


ished ; 

Well,  — let  him  live,"  he  said, 
"  For  though   he  cheats  the  gal 
lows, 
The  man,  at  least,  is  wed !  " 


THE    CALIPH    AND    THE 
CRIPPLE. 

AN   ARABIAN   TALK. 

THE  Caliph,  Ben  Akas,  whose  sur 
name  was  "  Wise," 
From   the    wisdom   and  wit  he 

displayed, 

One  morning  rode  forth  in  a  mer 
chant's  disguise 
To  see  how  his  iaws  were  obeyed. 

While  riding  along,  in  a   leisurely 

way, 

A  beggar  came  up  to  his  side, 
And  said,  "  In   the   name  of  the 

Prophet,  I  pray 

You  '11   give    a  poor  cripple   a 
ride." 

Ben  Akas,  amazed  at  the   mendi 
cant's  prayer, 
Asked  where  he  was  wishing  to 

g°- 
"I'm  going."    he    said,   "to    the 

neighboring  fair; 
But  my  crutches  are  wretchedly 
slow." 

"Get  up!"   said  the  Caliph;  "a 

saddle  like  this 
Is  hardly  sufficient  for  two; 
And    yet,    by    the     Prophet  !  — 

't  were  greatly  amiss 
To  snub    a    poor    cripple    like 
you." 


they  rode 

Till  they  came  to  the  neighbor 
ing  town, 

When,    hard    by  the  house  where 
the  Cadi  abode, 

He    bade     his     companion    get 
down. 

"Nay,  get  down  yourself!'''1  was 

the  fellow's  reply, 
Without  the  least  shame  or  re 
morse. 
"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  Caliph,  "  and 

pray  tell  me  why  V  " 
Quoth  the  beggar,  "  To  give  me 
the  horse ! 

"  You  know  very  well  that  the  nag 

is  my  own; 

And  if  you  resort  to  the  laws, 
You   do   not    imagine  your   story 

alone 
Sufficient  to  carry  the  cause? 

"  The  Cadi  is  reckoned  the  wisest 

of  in  en, 

And,  looking  at  you  and  at  me, 
After  hearing  us  both,  't  is  a  hun 
dred  to  ten 
The  cripple  will  get  the  decree." 

"  Very  well !  "  said  Ren  Akas,  as 
tonished  to  hear 
The     impudent      fellow's     dis 
course, 
"  If    the   Cadi   is    wise,    there    i» 

little  to  fear 

But  I  soon    shall    recover  my 
horse." 

"Agreed!"     said    the     beggar; 

"  whate'er  the  decree, 
The  verdict  shall  find  me  con- 

tent." 
"As    to    tint,1'    said    the    other 

"  we  'I1  presently  see." 
And  PO  to  tl:e  Cadi  they  went. 


THE   CALIPH  AND   THE   CRIPPLE. 


145 


It  chanced  that  a  cause  was  en 
grossing  the  Cadi, 
Where  a  woman  occasioned  the 

strife; 

And  both  parties  claimed  the  iden 
tical  lady 
As  being  his  own  lawful  wife. 

The  one  was  a  peasant;  a  *holar 

the  other; 
And  each  made  a  speech  in  his 

turn ; 
But,  what  was  a  very  particular 

pother, 
The  woman  refused  to  be  sworn. 

"Enough  for  the   present!"    the 

Cadi  declared, 
"  Come  back  in  the  morning," 

said  he; 
"And  now"  (to  Ben  Akas)  "the 

Court  is  prepared 
To   hear   what   your  grievance 
may  be." 

Ben  Akas  no  sooner  the  truth  had 

narrated 

When  the   beggar  as  coolly  re 
plies: 
"  I  swear,  by  the   Prophet  !    the 

fellow  has  stated 
A  parcel  of  impudent  lies! 

"  I   was   coming  to  market,   and 

when  I  descried 
A  man  by  the  wayside  alone, 
Looking  weary  and  faint,  why,  I 

gave  him  a  ride; 
Now  he  swears  that  the  horse  is 
his  own ! " 

•'  Very  well,"  said  the  Judge,  "let 

us  go  to  the  stable, 
And   each   shall    select    in    his 

turn." 
P-en    Akas    went    first,    and  was 

easily  able 

His  favorite  steed  to  discern. 
10 


The   cripple   went  next;    though 

the  stable  was  full, 
The    true    one     was    instantly 

shown. 
"  Your  Honor,"  said  he,  "  did  you 

think  me  so  dull 
That  I  could  n't  distinguish  my 
own?  " 

Next  morning  the  Cadi  came  into 

the  court, 
And   sat  himself   down  at  his 

ease ; 
And  thither  the  suitors  and  people 

resort 
To  list  to  the  Judge's  decrees. 

First  calling  the  scholar,  who  sued 

for  his  spouse, 
His     Honor    thus    settled    the 

doubt : 
"The  woman  is  yours;  take  her 

home  to  your  house, 
And  don't  let  her  often  go  out." 

Then  calling  before  him  Ben  Akas, 

whose  cause 
Stood    next    in    the   calendar's 

course, 

He  said:   "By  the  Prophet's  in 
flexible  laws, 

Let  the   merchant    recover  his 
horse ! 

"And  as  for  the  beggar,  I  further 

decide 

His  villany  fairly  has  earned 
A  good  hundred  lashes  well  laid 

on  his  hide; 

Mtshulluh !     The   court    is  ad 
journed." 

Ben  Akas  that  night   sought   the 

Cadi's  abode, 
And  said :  "  'T  is  the  Caliph  you 

sec. 

Though  hither,  indeed,  as  a  mer 
chant  I  rode, 
I  am  Abou  Ben  Akas  to  thee." 


146 


THE    UGLY  AUNT. 


The  Cadi,  abashed,  made  the  low 
est  of  bows, 

And,  kissing  his  Majesty's  hand, 
Cried:  "  Great  is  the  honor  you  do 

to  my  house ; 

I    wait    for    your    royal    com 
mand!  " 

"  I  fain  would  possess,"  was  the 

Caliph's  reply, 
"Your  wisdom;    so  tell  me,   I 

pray, 
How  your  Honor  discovered  where 

justice  might  lie 
In  the  causes  decided  to-day." 

"  Why,    as   to   the    woman,"    the 

Cadi  replied, 

"  It  was  easily  settled,  I  think; 
Just  taking  the   lady  a  moment 

aside, 

I  said,   '  Fill   my  standish  with 
ink.' 

"  And  quick,  at  the  order,  the  bot 
tle  was  taken, 
With    a  dainty   and   dexterous 

hold; 
The    standish   was    washed ;    the 

fluid  was  shaken; 
New    cotton    put    in    for    the 
old  —  " 

"I  see!"  said  the  Caliph;  ''the 

story  is  pleasant; 
Of  course  it  was  easy  to  tell 
The     scholar    swore    truly  ;     the 

spouse  of  a  peasant 
Could    never    have   done   it  so 
well. 

"  And  now  for  the  horse '?  "    "  That 

was  harder,  I  own, 
For,  mark  you,  the  beggarly  elf 
(.However  the  rascal  may  chance 

to  have  known) 

Knew   the   palfrey  as  well    as 
yourself. 


"  But  the  truth  was  apparent,  the 

moment  I  learned 
What  the  animal  thought  of  the 

two ; 
The  impudent  cripple  he  savagely 

spurned, 

But  was  plainly  delighted  with 
you!  " 

Ben  Akas  sat  musing  and  silent 

awhile, 

As  one  whom  devotion  employs? 
Then,    raising    hi.s    head   with    i. 

heavenly  smile, 
He  said,  in  a  reverent  voice:  — 

"  Sure  Allah  is  good  and  abundant 

in  grace ! 
Thy    wisdom    is    greater    than 

mine: 
I   would    that  the   Caliph    might 

rule  in  his  pla^e 
As    well    as    tnou     servest    ir 
thine! " 


THE  UGLY  AUNT.6 

A   NORWEGIAN   TALE. 
I. 

IT  was  a  little  maiden 
Lived  long  and  long  ago, 

(Though  when  it  was,  and  where 

it  was, 
I  'm  sure  I  do  not  know,) 

And  her  face  was  all  the  fortune 
This  maiden  had  to  show. 

it. 

And  yet  —  what  many  people 
Will  think  extremely  rare 

In  one  who,  like  this  maiden, 
Ne'er  knew  a  mother's  care  — 


THE   UGLY  AUNT. 


147 


The  neighbors  nil  asserted 
That  she  was  good  as  fair. 


"Alack!  "  exclaimed  the  damsel, 
While  hitter  tears  she  shed, 

"I  'in  little  skilled  to  labor, 
And  yet  I  must  be  fed; 

I  fain  by  c'aily  service 

Would  earn  my  daily  bread." 


And  so  she  sought  a  palace, 
Where  dwelt  a  mighty  queen, 

And  when  the  royal  lady 
The  little  maid  had  seen, 

She  loved  her  for  her  beauty, 
Despite  her  lowly  mien. 


Not  long  she  served  her  Majesty 

Ere  jealousy  arose 
(Because  she  was  the  favorite, 

As  you  may  well  suppose), 
And  all  the  other  servants 

Became  her  bitter  foes. 


And  so  these  false  companions, 

In  envy  of  her  face. 
Contrived  a  wicked  stratagem 

To  bring  her  to  disgrace, 
And  fill  her  soul  with  sorrow, 

And  rob  her  of  her  place. 


They  told  her  royal  Majesty 
(Most  arrant  liars  they!) 

That  often,  in  their  gossiping. 
They'd  heard  the  maiden  sav 

That  she  could  spin  a  pound  of  ftax 
All  in  a  single  day ! 


"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  her  Majesty, 
•'I'm  fond  of  spinning,  too; 

So  come,  my  little  maiden, 
And  make  vour  boasting  true: 

Or  else  your  foolish  vanity 
You  presently  may  rue !  " 


Alas!  the  hapless  damsel 
Was  now  afflicted  sore, 

No  mother  e'er  had  taught  her 
In  such  ingenious  lore; 

A  spinning-wheel,  in  all  her  life, 
She  ne'er  had  seen  before ! 


But  fearing  much  to  tell  the  queen 
How  she  had  been  belied, 

She  tried  to  spin  upon  the  wheel, 
And  still  in  vain  she  tried; 

And  so  —  't  was  all  that  she  could 

do- 
She  sat  her  down  and  cried. 


Now  while  she  thus  laments  her  fate 
In  sorrow  deep  and  wild, 

A  beldam  stands  before  her  view, 
And  says,  in  accents  mild: 

"  What  ails  thee  now,  my  pretty 

one, 
Say,  what 's  the  matter,  child  ?  '* 


Soon  as  she  heard  the  piteous  case. 

"  Cheer  up!  "  the  beldam  said, 
"I  '11  spin  for  thee  the  pound  of  flaxx 

And  thou  shalt  go  to  bed, 
If  only  thou  wilt  call  me  '  aunt,' 

The  day  that  thou  art  wedi  " 


The  maiden  promised  true  and  fair 
And  when  the  day  was  done, 


148 


THE    THREE   GIFTS. 


The  queen  went  in  to  see  the  task, 
And  found  it  fairly  spun. 

Quoth   she,  "I  love  thee  passing 

well, 
And  thou  shalt  wed  mv  son. 


"  For  one  who  spins  so  well  a<»  thee 
(In  sooth!  't  is  wondrous  fine!) 

With  beauty,  too,  so  very  rare, 
And  goodness  such  as  thine, 

Should  be  the  daughter  of  a  queen, 
And  I  will  have  thee  mine.  " 


Now  when  the  wedding-day  had 
come, 

And.  decked  in  royal  pride, 
Around  the  smoking  table  sat 

The  bridegroom  and  the  bride, 
With  all  the  royal  kinsfolk, 

Ana  many  guests  beside, 


In  came  a  beldam,  wi  h  a  frisk; 

Was  ever  dame  so  bold? 
Or  one  so  lean  and  wrinkled, 

So  ugly  and  so  old, 
Or  with  a  nose  so  very  long 

And  shocking  to  behold? 

XVII. 

Now  while  they  sat  in  wonderment 
This  curious  dame  to  see, 

She  said  unto  the  Princess, 
As  bold  as  bold  could  be : 

"  Good  morrow,  gentle  lady !  " 
"Good  morrow,  Aunt!"  quoth 
she. 


The  Prince  with  gay  demeanor, 
But  with  an  inward  groan, 

Then  bade  her  sit  at  table, 
And  said,  in  friendly  tone, 


'  If  you  're  my  bride's  relation, 
Why,  then  you  are  my  own !  " 


When  dinner  now  was  ended, 
As  you  may  well  suppose, 

The  Prince  still  thought  about  his 

Aunt, 
And  still  his  wonder  rose 

Where  could  the  ugly  beldam 
Have  got  so  long  a  nose. 


At  last  he  plainly  asked  her", 
Before  that  merry  throng, 

And  she  as  plainly  answered 
(Nor  deemedhis  freedom  wrong): 

"  'T  was  spinning,  in  my  girlhood, 
That  made  my  nose  so  long." 

XXI. 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed   his   High 
ness, 

And  then  and  there  he  swore: 
"Though  spinning  made  me  hus 
band 

To  her  whom  I  adore, 
Lest  she  should  spoil  her  beauty, 
Why,  she  shall  spin  no  more!  " 


THE  THREE   GIFTS. 

A  TALE   OF    NORTH   GERMANY. 

THREE  gentlemen  mounted  their 

horses  one  day, 

And  far  in  the  country  they  rode, 
Till  they  came  to  a  cottage,  that 

stood  by  the  way, 
Where  an  'honest    old    weaver 
abode. 


THE    THREE   GIFTS. 


149 


This  honest  old  weaver  was  wretch 
edly  poor, 

Yet  he  never  was  surly  or  sad ; 
He  welcomed  the  travellers  into  his 

door, 

And  gave  them  the  best  that  he 
had. 

They  ate  and  they  drank,  till  the 

weaver  began 
To  fear  that   they  never  would 

•  cease; 
But  when  they  had  finished,  they 

gave  to  the  man 
A  hundred  gold  guineas  apiece. 

Then  the  gentlemen  mounted  their 

horses  again, 
And,  bidding  the  weaver  "  Good 

night," 
Went  dashing  away   over  vallev 

and  plain. 

And   were  presently  lost  to  his 
sight. 

Sure  never  was  weaver  so  happy 

before, 
And  never  seemed   guineas   so 

bright; 
He  counted  the  pieces  a  hundred 

times  o'er, 

With   more   than   a  miser's  de 
light. 

Then   snug   in   some  rags  he  hid 

them  awav, 
As    if    he    had    got    them    by 

stealth. 
Lest   his    meddlesome   wife,    who 

was  absent  that  day, 
Should  know  of  his  wonderful 
wealth. 

Soon  after,  a  travelling  rag-dealer 

came. 
The  rags  in  the  bundle  were  sold, 


And  with  them  (the  woman  was 

little  to  blame) 

The   three   hundred   guineas  of 
gold. 

When  a  calendar  year  had  vanished 

and  fled, 

The  gentlemen  came  as  before. 
"Now  how  does  it  happen,"  they 

moodily  said, 

"  We   find    you   so  wretchedly 
poor?  " 

"Alas!"  said  the  weaver,  "this 

many  a  day 

The  money  is  missing,  in  sooth ; 
In  a  bundle  of  rags  it  was  hidden 

awav, 

('Fore   God!    I  am  telling  the 
truth. ) 

''  But  once,  in  my  absence,  a  rag- 
dealer  came, 

The  rags  in  the  bundle  were  sold, 
And   with  them  (the  woman  was 

surely  to  blame) 
The  three   hundred  guineas  of 
gold." 

"It  was  foolishly  done,"  the  gen 
tlemen  swore; 
"Now,    prithee,   be   careful   of 

these." 
And  they  gave  him  again,  the  same 

as  before, 
A  hundred  gold  guineas  apiece. 

Then  the  gentlemen  mounted  their 

horses  again, 
And,  bidding  the  weaver  "Good 

night," 
Went   dashing  away  over  valley 

and  plain, 

And  were  presently  lost  to  his 
sight. 


150 


Till-:    THREE   GIFTS. 


"I1  faith,"  said  the  weaver,  "no 

wonder  they  chid; 
But  now  I  am  wiser,  I  trust  " 
So  the   three  hundred  guineas  he 

carefully  hid 
Far  down  in  a  barrel  of  dust. 

But  soon,  in  his  absence,  a  dust 
man  came, 

The  dust  in  the  barrel  was  sold ; 
And  with  it  (the  woman  was  little 

to  blame) 

The   three   hundred  guineas  of 
gold. 

When  a  calendar  year  had  vanished 

and  fled, 

The  gentlemen  came  as  before. 
"  Now  how  does  it  happen,"  they 

angrily  said, 

"  We  find    you   so  wretchedly 
poor  V  ' ' 

"Was  ever,''  he  cried,  "so  luck 
less  a  wight  V 

As  surely  as  Heaven  is  just, 
The  money  I  hid  from  my  spouse's 

sight 
Far  down  in  a  barrel  of  dust; 

"  But  when  I  was  absent  the  dust 
man  came, 

The  dust  in  the  barrel  was  sold, 
And  with  it  (the  woman  was  surely 

to  blame) 

The   three   hundred   guineas  of 
gold." 

"Take  that  for  your  folly!"  the 

gentlemen  said; 
"  Was  ever  so  silly  a  wight  V  " 
And  they  tossed   on   the  table  a 

lump  of  lead, 

And  were  presently  out  of  his 
sight. 


"  'T  is   plain,"   said   the   weaver, 

"  they  meant  to  flout, 
And  little  I  marvel;  alas!  — 
My  wife  is  a  fool;  and  there  isn't 

a  doubt 
That  I  am  an  arrant  ass !  " 

While  thus  he  was  musing  in  sor- 
sow  and  shame", 

And  wishing  that  he  were  dead, 
Into  his  cottage  a  fisherman  came 

To  borrow  a  lump  of  lead. 

"Ah!    here."    he   cried,    "is  the 

thing  I  wish 

To  menu  my  broken  net ; 
Will  you  give  it  me  for  the  finest 

'  fish 
That  I  this  day  may  get?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart !  "  the  weaver 

replies; 

And  so  the  fisherman  brought 
That   night    a   fish    of    wondrous 

size,  — 
The  finest  that  he  had  caught. 

He  opened  the  fish,  when  lo  and 

behold! 

He  found  a  precious  stone,  — 
A  diamond  large   as  the   lead  he 

sold, 
And  bright  as  the  morning  sun  ! 

For  a  thousand  guineas  the  stone 

he  sold 

(It  was  worth  a  hundred  more), 
And  never,  't  is  said,  in  bliss  or 

gold, 
Was  weaver  so  rich  before. 

But  often  —  to  keep  her  sway,  no 

doubt, 

As  a  genuine  woman  must  — 
The  wife  would  say,  "  /  brought  it 

about 
By  selling  the  rags  and  dust!  " 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 
THE   WIFE'S  REVENGE. 

FROM   THE   SPANISH. 


151 


I. 

"  ONCE  on  a  time  "  there  flourished 

in  Madrid 
A  painter,  clever,  and  the  pet  of 

Fame, 
Don  Jos^,  —  but  the  rest  were  bet- 

'  tor  hid; 
So    please    accept    the    simple 

Christian  name, 
Only,  to  keep  my  verse  from  being 

prosy, 

Pray  mind  your  Spanish,  and  pro 
nounce  it.  Hozy. 


Don  Jose^  —  who,    it   seems,  had 

lately  won 

Much  pra  isc  and  cash, —  to  crown 
a  lucky  week. 

Resolved  for  once  to  have  a  little 

fun, 

To  ease  him  of  his  easel,  —  so  to 
speak ; 

And  so,  in  honor  of  his  limning  la 
bors, 

He  gave  a  party  to  his  artist-neigh 
bors. 


A  strange  affair;  for  not  a  woman 

came 
To   grace   the   table;    e'en   the 

painter's  spouse. 
Donna    Casilda,   a    most    worthy 

dame, 
Was,  rather  roughly,  told  to  quit 

the  house, 
And  go  and  gossip,  for  the  evening, 

down 
Among  her  cousins  in  the  lower 

town. 


The  lady  went ;  but  presently  came 

back. 
For  mirth  or  mischief,  with   a 

jolly  cousin, 
And  sought   a  closet,   where    an 

ample  crack 
Revealed    the   revellers,  sitting, 

bv  the  dozen, 
Discussing  wine  and  —  Art?  — No, 

"  women  folks!" 

In    senseless   satire   and  indecent 
jokes. 


"  Women?  "  said  Jose,  "  what  do 

women  know 
Of  poetry  or  painting?  "  ("  Hear 

him'  talk !  " 
Whispered  the  list'ners.)  "  When 

did  woman  show 
A  ray  of  genius   in   the  higher 

walk 
Of  either?    No;  to  them  the  gods 

impart 
Arts,  — quite  enough,  — but  deuce 

a  bit  of  Art!  " 


("Wretch!"   cried    the     ladies.) 

"  Yes,"  said  Jos^,  "take 
Away  from  women  love-intrigues 

and  all 
The  cheap  disguises  they  are  wont 

to  make 
To   hide   their  spots,  —  they  'd 

sing  extremely  small!  " 
("  Fool !  "  said  his  spouse,  "we1 11 

settle,  by  and  by, 
Who  sings  the  smallest,  villain,  — 

you  or  I !") 

VII. 

To  make  the  matter  worse,  the  jo 
vial  guests 

Were  duly  inindfm  not  to  be  ex 
ceeded 


152 


THE    WIFE'S  REVENGE. 


In  coarse  allusions   and   unsavory 

jests, 

But  —  following  Jose  —  talked, 
of  course,  as  he  did; 

I  've  been,  myself,  to  many  a  bach 
elor-party,  • 

And  found  them,  mainly,  less  re 
fined  than  hearty. 


The  party  over,  full  of  inward  ire, 
Casilda     plotted,    silently    and 

long, 
Some  fitting  vengeance.     Women 

seldom  tire 
In   their  resentments,    whether 

right  or  wrong: 
In   classic   authors   we   are  often 

warned 
There  's   naught   so  savage   as  a 

"  woman  scorned." 


Besides,  Casilda,  be  it  known,  had 

much 

Of  what  the  French  applaud  — 
and  not  amiss  — 

As  savoir-faire  (I  do  not  know  the 

Dutch); 

The  literal  Germans  call  it  M ut 
ter  wiss, 

The   Yankees  gumption,  and  the 
Grecians  nous,  — 

A  useful  thing  to  have   about   the 
house. 


At  length  the  lady  hit  upon  a  plan 
Worthy  of  Hermes  for   its   deep 

disguise; 
She  got  a  carpenter,  —  a    trusty 

man,  — 

To  make  a  door,  and  of  a  certain 
size, 


With  curious  carvings  and  heral 
dic  bands. 

And  bade  him  wait  her  ladyship's 
commands. 


Then  falling  sick,  —  as  gentle  la 
dies  know 

The  readv  art,  unless  romances 
lie,— 

She  groaned  aloud,  and  bade  Don, 

JOS^'  £0. 

And  quickly,  too,  —  or  she 
should  surely  die,  — 

And  fetch  her  nurse,  —  a  woman 
who  abode 

Some  three  miles  distant  by  the 
nearest  road. 


With  many  a  frown  and   many   a 

bitter  curse 
He  heard  the  summons.     'T  was 

a  pretty  hour, 
He   said,   to   go   a-gadding  for   a 

nurse! 
At  twelve  at  night!  —  and  in  a 

drenching  shower ! 
He'd  never  go,  —  unless  the  devil 

sent,  — 
And  then  Don  Jose1  took  his  hat 

and  went! 


A   long,  long  hour  he   paced  the 

dirty  street 
Where    dwelt    the    nurse,    but 

could  n't  find  the  place  ; 
For  he  had  lost  the  number;  and 

his  feet, 
Though  clad  in  leather,  made  a 

bootless  chase; 
He  fain  had  questioned  some  one; 

all  in  vain,  — 
The  very  thieves  were  fearful   of 

the  rain ! 


THE    WIFVS  REVENGE. 


153 


XIV. 

Returning    homeward    from    his 

weary  tramp, 

He    reached    his    house.  —  or 
where  his  house  should  be; 
When,  by  the  glimmer  of  the  entry- 
lump, 
Don  Jose  saw  —  and  marvelled 

imu'li  to  see  — 
An  ancient,  strange,  and  most  fan- 

.  tastic  door, 

The  like  whereof  he  'd  never  seen 
before ! 

XV. 

"  Now,    by    Our    Lady !     this    is 

mighty  queer!  " 
Cried  .lose,  .-.taring  at  the  graven 
wood, 

"I  know  mv  dwelling  stands  ex 
actly  liere ; 

At  least,    I  'in   certain   here   is 
where  it  stood 

Two  hours  ago,  when  (here  he  gave 
a  curse) 

Donna    Casilda  sent   me   for    the 
nurse. 

XVI. 

"I  know  the  houses  upon  either 

side ; 
Tliere  stands  the  dwelling  of  the 

undertaker; 
Here  my  good  friend  Morena  lived 

and  died ; 
And  htru  's  the  shop  of  old  Trap- 

pul,  the  baker; 

And  yet,  as  sure  as  iron  is  n't  brass, 
1  T  is  not  mil  door,  or  I  'm  a  precious 

ns<; ' 


"However,  I  will  knock  "  ;  and  so 

he  did, 

And    culled,    "Casilda!"    loud 
enough  to  rouse 


The    very    dullest    watchman    in 

Madrid; 
But  woke,  instead,  the  porter  of 

the  house, 
Who  rudely  asked  him,  Where  he 

got  his  beer? 
And  bade  him,  "  Go !  —  there  's  no 

Casilda  here!  " 

XVIII. 

Don  Jose  crossed  himself  in  dire 

dismay, 
Lest  he  had  lost  his  reason,  01 

his  sight; 
At  least  't  was  certain  he  had  losV 

his  way ; 
And,  hoping  sleep  might  set  the 

matter  right. 
He  sought  and  found  the  dwelling 

of  a  friend 
Who  lived  in  town,  —  quite  at  the* 

other  end. 


Next  morning  Jo*e,  rising  \vitn  the 

sun, 

Returned,  once  more,  to  seek  the 
missing  house; 

And  there  it  stood,  as  it  had  always 

done. 

And  there  stood  also  his  indig 
nant  spouse 

With  half  her  city  cousins  at  her 
back, 

Waiting  to  put  poor  Jose  on  the 
rack. 


"  A  charming  husband,  you  !  "  the 

dame  began, 
"  To  leave  your  spouse  in  peril 

of  her  life. 
For   tavern   7-evellers!     You're   a 

pretty  man, 

Thus  to  desert  your  lawful,  wed 
ded  wife, 


154 


THE  DERVIS  AND  IJIS  ENEMIES. 


And  spend  your  nights  —  0  vil 
lain  !  —  don't  explain, 

I  '11  be  revenged  if  there  is  law  in 
Spain !  " 


"  Nay,  Madam,  hear  me !  — just  a 

single  word  —  " 

And  then  he  told  her  of  his  fruit 
less  search 

To  find  the  beldam ;  and  of  what 

occur  ed,— 

Ho w  his  own  house  had  left  him 
in  the  lurch  ! 

Here  such  a  stream  of  scorn  came 
pouring  in, 

Don  Jose's  voice  was  smothered  in 
the  din. 


"Nay,"   said   Casilda,   "that  will 

never  do; 

Your  own  confession  plainly  puts 
you  down ! 

Say  you  were  tipsy  (it  were  noth 
ing  new), 

And  spent  the  night  carousing 
through  the  town 

With  other  topers;  that  may  be  re 
ceived; 

But,  faith!   your  tale  will  never  be 
believed ! " 


Crazed  with  the  clamor  of  the  noisy 

crew 
All  singing  chorus  to  the  injured 

dame, 
Say,  what  the  deuce   could  poor 

Don  Jose  do?  — 

He  prayed  for  pardon,  and  con 
fessed  his  shame; 


And  gave  no  dinners,  in  his  future 

life, 
Without  remembering  to  invite  his 

wife! 


THE  DERVIS   AND   HIS   ENE 
MIES. 

A   TURKISH   LEGEND. 
I. 

NEAR  Babylon,  in  ancient  times, 
There   d'welt    a    humble,   pious 

Dervis 
Who  lived  on  alms,  and  spent  hh 

days 
In      exhortation,      prayer,      and 

praise,  — 
Devoted  to  the  Prophet's  service. 


To  him,  one  day,  a  neighbor  sent 
A  gift  extremely  rare  and  pleas 
ant,  — 

A  fatted  ox  of  goodly  size; 
Whereat  the  grateful  Dervis  cries, 
"  Allah  be  praised  for  this  fine 
present!  " 


So  large  a  gift  were  h<ml  to  hide: 

Nor  was  he  careful  to  conceal  it; 
Indeed,  a  thief  had  chanced  to  spy 
The  ox  as  he  was  passing  by, 
And  so  resolved  to  go  and  steal  it. 


Now  while  he  sought,  with  this  in 
tent, 
The  owner's  humble  habitation, 


7V//-:   D1.RV1S  AND  HIS   ENEMIES. 

IX. 


155 


He  met  a  stranger  near  the  plnce, 
Who  seemed,  to  judge  him  by  his 

face, 
A  person  of  his  own  vocation. 


v. 

And  so  the  thief,  ns  one  who  knew 
What    to    a   brother-rogue   was 

owing, 

Politely  bade  the  man  "  Good  day," 
And  "asked  him,  in  a  friendly  way, 
His  name,  and  whither  he  was 
going. 


The   stranger  bowed,  and  gruffly 

said: 

"  My  name  is  Satan,  at  your  ser 
vice  ! 

And  I  sun  going.  Sir,  to  kill 
A   man   who   Jives    ne;r    yonder 

hill.  - 
A  fellow  called  the '  Ho]  v  Dervi  .' 


"I  hate  him  as  a  mortal  foe; 
For,    spite  of  me  and  Nature's 

bias, 
There's  scarce  a  knave  in  all  these 

parts 

But  this  vile  DervK  K-  his  arts, 
Has   made    him    honest,  cha'te, 
and  pious!  " 


"Sir,  I  am  yours '."the  thief  re 
plied;" 

"  I  srorn  to  live  by  honest  labor; 
And  even  now  I  'in  r>n  my  way 
To  steal  an  ox  received  to-day 
By   this    same    Dervis    from    a 
neighbor." 


"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the 

fiend, 
"  You  seem,  indeed,  a  younger 

brother; 

And,  faith  !   in  such  a  case  as  this, 
It  certainly  were  much  amiss 
If  we   should   fail  to  aid  each 
other!  " 

x. 

While   thus   discoursing,  sooth  to 

say, 
Each    knave    had    formed    the 

resolution 

(Lest  aught  occur  to  rrar  his  plan) 
To  be  himself  the  foremost  man 
To  put  his  scheme  in  execution. 


'•  For,"  said  the  thief  unto  himself, 
'•  Before  his  work  is  half  com 
pleted, 
The    Dervis,  murdered  where  he 

lies, 
Will  rouse  the  neighbors  with  his 

cries, 

And    so   my   plan   will    be   de 
feated!'" 


"If    he     goes    first,"    the    other 

thought, 
"TIN  cursed  ox  may  chance  to 

bellow; 
Or  else,  in  breaking  through  the 

do  r. 

He  '11  w:i  ke  the  Dervis  with  the  roar, 
And  I  shall  fdil  to  kill  the  fel 
low!" 

XIII. 

So  when  they  reached  the  hermit's 

house, 

The  devil  whispered,  quite  de 
murely, 


156 


RAMPSINITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 


"  While  I  go  in,  you  stand  without; 
My    job     despatcned,     we  '11    go 

about 

The  other  business  more  secure- 
ly." 

XIV. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  robber,  "  I  pro 
test 

I  don't  at  all  approve  the  meas 
ure; 

This  seems  to  me  the  better  plan: 
Just  wait  till  I  have  robbed   the 

man, 

Then  you  may  kill  him  at  your 
leisure." 


Now  when,  at  last,  they  both  re 
fused 

To  yield  the   point    in   contro 
versy, 

To  such  a  height  the  quarrel  rose, 
From  words  and  threats  they  came 

to  blows, 

And    beat  each  other  without 
mercy ! 


Perceiving  that  the  devil's  strokes 
Surpassed    his    own   in   weight 

and  number, 

The  thief,  before  he  took  to  flight, 
Cried,  "  Murder!  help!"  with  all 

his  might, 

And  roused  the  Dervis  from  his 
slumber. 


"  Thieves !  thieves !  "  cried  Satan, 

going  off 

(To  figure  at  some  tavern-revel). 
And  so  by  this  fraternal  strife 


The  Dervis  saved  his  ox  and  life, 
Despite    the    robber    and    thfa 
devil ! 


RAMPSINITUS  AND  THE 
ROBBERS. 

AX   EGYPTIAN    TALE. 

Ix  charming  old  Herodotus, 
If  you  were  college-bred, 

The  Tale  of  Rarnpsinitus 
You  may.  perclmnce,  have  read; 

If  not,  't  is  little  matter,  — 
You  may  read  it  here  instead. 

This  Rampsinitus  was  a  king 
Who  lived  in  days  of  old, 

And,  finding  that  his  treasury 
Was  quite  too  small  to  hold 

His  jewels  and  his  money-bags 
Of  silver  and  of  gold, 

He  built  a  secret  chamber, 

With  this  intent  alone, 
(That  is,  he  got  an  architect 

And  caused  it  to  be  done, ) 
A  most  substantial  structure 

Of  mortar  and  of  stone. 

A  very  solid  building 
It  appeared  to  every  eye, 

Except  the  master-mason's, 
Who  plainly  could  espy 

One  stone  that  fitted  loosely 
When  the  masonry  was  dry. 

A  dozen  years  had  vanished, 
When,  in  the  common  way, 

The  architect  was  summoned 
His  final  debt  to  pay ; 


RAMPS1NITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 


157 


And  thus  unto  his  children 
The  dying  man  did  say:  — 

"  Come  hither  now,   my  darling 
sons, 

Come,  list  my  children  twain, 
I  have  a  little  secret 

I  am  going  to  explain; 
'T  is  a  comfort,  now  1  'm  dying, 

That  I  have  n't  lived  in  vain." 


And  then  he  plainly  told  them 
Of  the  trick  that  he  had  done; 

How  in  the  royal  chamber 
He  had  put  a  sliding  stone,  — 

"  You  '11  find  it  near  the  bottom, 
On  the  side  that 's  next  the  sun. 


"Now  I  feel  that  I  am  going; 

Swift  ebbs  the  vital  tide; 
No  longer  in  this  wicked  world 

My  spirit  may  abide." 
And  so  this  worthy  gentleman 

Turned  up  his  toes  and  died. 

It  was  n't  long  before  the  sons 
Improved  the  father's  hint, 

And  searched  the  secret  chamber 
To  discover  what  was  in  't; 

And  found,  by  self-promotion, 
They    were    "  Masters    of    the 
Mint!" 


At  length  King  Rampsinitus 
Perceived,  as  well  he  might, 

His  caskets  and  his  money-bags 
Were  getting  rather  light; 

"And  yet,"  quoth  he,  ''my  bolts 

and  bars 
Are  all  exactly  right ! 


"  I  wonder  how  the  cunning  dog 
Has  managed  to  get  in ; 


However,  it  is  clear  enough, 

I  'm  losing  lots  of  tin ; 
I  '11  try  the  virtue  of  a  trap 

Before  the  largest  bin !  " 

In  came  the  thief  that  very  night, 
And  soon  the  other  chap, 

Who  waited  at  the  opening, 
On  hearing  something  snap, 

Went  in  and  found  his  brother 
A-sitting  in  the  trap. 

"  You  see  me  in  a  pretty  fix !  " 
The  gallant  fellow  said ; 

"  'T  is  better,  now,  that  one  should 

die 
Than  two  of  us  be  dead. 

Lest  both  should  be  detected, 
Cut  off  my  foolish  head !  " 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  other, 
"  Such  a  cut  were  hardly  kind, 

And  to  obey  your  order, 
I  am  truly  disinclined; 

But,  as  you 're  the  elder  brother, 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  mind." 

So,  with  his  iron  hanger 

He  severed,  at  a  slap, 
The  noddle  of  the  victim, 

Which  he  carried  through,  the 

SnP, 
And  left  the  bleeding  body 

A-sitting  in  the  trap. 

His  Majesty's  amazement 
Of  course  was  very  great, 

On  entering  the  chamber 
That  held  his  cash  and  plate, 

To  find  the  robber's  body 
Without  a  bit  of  pate! 

To  solve  the  mighty  mystery 
Was  now  his  whole  intent; 


158 


RAMPSINITUS  AND    THE  ROBBERS. 


And  everywhere,  to  find  the  head, 

His  officers  were  sent; 
But  every  man  came  back  again 

No  wiser  than  he  went. 

At  last  he  set  a  dozen  men 

The  mystery  to  trace; 
And  bade  them  watch  the  body 

In  a  very  public  place, 
And  note  what  signs  of  sorrow 

They  might  see  in  any  face. 

The    robber,    guessing    what    it 

meant. 

Was  naturally  shy; 
And,   though   lie   mingled  in   the 

crowd, 

Took  care  to  "mind  his  eye," 
For  fear  his  brother's  body-guard 
His  sorrow  should  espy. 

"  I  '11  cheat  'em  yet!  "  the  fellow 
said ; 

And  so  that  very  night, 
He  planned  a  cunning  stratagem 

To  get  the  soldiers  "  tight "  ; 
And  steal  away  his  brother's  trunk 

Before  the  morning  light. 

He  got  a  dozen  asses, 

And  put  upon  their  backs 

As  many  loads  as  donkeys 
Of  wine  in  leather  sacks ; 

Then  set  the  bags  a-leaking 
From  a  dozen  little  cracks. 

Then  going  where  the  soldiers 
Were  keeping  watch  and  ward, 

The  fellows  saw  the  leaking  wine 
With  covetous  regard, 

And  straightway  fell  a-drinking, 
And  drank  extremely  hard. 

The  owner  stormed  and  scolded 
With  well-affected  spunk, 


But  still  they  kept  a-drinking 
Till  all  of  them  were  drunk; 

And  so  it  was  the  robber 
Stole  off  his  brother's  trunk! 


Now  when  King  Rampsinitus 
Had  heard  the  latest  news, 

'T  is  said  his  royal  Majesty 
Expressed  his' royal  views 

In  language  such  as  gentlemen 
Are  seldom  known  to  use. 


Now  when  a  year  had  vanished, 
He  formed  another  plan 

To  catch  the  chap  who  'd  stolen 
The  mutilated  man: 

And  summoning  the  Princess, 
His  Majesty  began:  — 


"  My  daughter,  hold  a  masquerade, 
And  offer  —  as  in  fun  — 

Five  kisses  (in  your  chamber) 
To  every  mother's  son 

Who  '11  tell  the  shrewdest  mischief 
That  he  has  ever  done.6 


"If  you  chance  to  find  the  robber 
By  the  trick  that  I  have  planned, 

Remember,  on  the  instant, 
To  seize  him  by  the  hand, 

Then  await  such  further  orders 
As  vour  father  mav  command." 


The  Princess  made  the  party, 
Without  the  least  dissent. 

'T  was  a  general  invitation, 
And  everybody  went,  — 

The  robber  with  the  others, 
Though  he  guessed  the   king's 
intent. 


Now  when  the  cunning  robber 
Was  questioned,  like  the  rest, 


POOR    TARTAR. 


159 


He  said:  "  Your  Royal  Highness, 

I  solemnly  protest 
Of  all  my  subtle  rogueries, 

I  scarce  know  which  is  best; 


•'  But  I  venture  the  opinion, 
'"!'  was  a  rather  pretty  job, 

When,  having  with  my  hanger 
Cut  on"  my  brother's  nob, 

I  managed  from  the  soldiers 
His  headless  trunk  to  rob!  " 


And  now  the  frightened  Princess 
(iave  a  very  heavy  groan, 

For.  to  her  consternation. 
The  cunning  thief  had  flown. 

And  left  the  hand  she  grappled 
Still  Iving  in  her  own  ! 


(For  lie  a  hand  had  borrowed, 
'T  is  needful  to  be  said, 

From  the  body  of  a  gentleman 
That  recently  was  dead, 

And  tli  fit  lie  gave  the  Princess 
The  moment  that  he  fled!) 


Then  good  King  Rampsinitus 

Incontinently  swore 
That  this  paragon  of  robbers 

He  would  persecute  no  more 
For  such  a  clever  rascal 

Had  never  lived  before! 


And  in  that  goodly  company, 

His  Majesty  declared 
That  if  the  thief  would  show  him 
self 

Hi=  person  should  be  spared, 
And  with  his  only  daughter 

In  marriage  should  be  paired! 

And  when  King  Rampsinitus 
Had  run  his  mortal  lease, 


He  left  them  in  his  testament 
Just  half  a  crown  apiece; 

May  every  modest  merit 
Thus  llowrish  and  increase! 


POOR   TARTAR. 

A    HUNGARIAN    LEGEND.    • 
I. 

TIIEKE  's  trouble  in  Hungary,  now, 

alas! 
There  's  trouble  on  every  hand! 

For  that  terrible  man, 

The  Tartar  Khan, 
Is  ravaging  over  the  land! 


He  is  rid  in 
men, 


forth  with  his   ugly 


men, 

To  rob  and  ravish  and  slay; 
For  deeds  like  those, 
You  may  well  suppose, 

Are  quite  in  the  Tartar-way. 


And  now  he  comes,  that  terrible 

chief, 
To  a  mansion  grand  and  old; 

And  he  peers  about 

Within  and  without, 
And  what  do  his  eves  behold? 


A  thousand  cattle  in  fold  and  field, 
And  sheep  all  over  the  plain; 

And  noble  steeds 

Of  rarest  breeds, 
And  beautiful  crops  of  grain. 


160 


THE  FOUR   MISFORTUNES. 


But  finer  still  is  the  hoarded  wealth 
That  his  ravished  eyes  behold ; 

In  silver  plate 

Of  wondrous  weight, 
And  jewels  of  pearl  and  gold  ! 


A  nobleman  owns  this  fine  estate; 
And  when  the  robber  he  sees, 

'T  is  not  very  queer 
'   He  quakes  with  fear, 
And  trem  les  a  bit  in  the  knees. 


He  quakes  in  fear  of  his  precious 

life, 
And,  scarce  suppressing  a  groan, 

"  Good  Tartar,"  says  he, 

"  Whatever  you  see 
Be  pleased  to  reckon  your  own !  " 


The  Khan  looked  round  in  a  lei 
surely  way 
As  one  who  is  puzzled  to  choose; 

When,  cocking  his  ear, 

He  chanced  to  hear 
The  creak  of  feminine  shoes. 

IX. 

The    Tartar    smiled    a    villanous 

smile, 
When,  like  a  lily  in  bloom, 

A  lady  fair 

With  golden  hair 
Came  gliding  into  the  room. 


The  robber  stared  with  amorous 

eyes ; 
(Vas  ever  so  winning  a  face  'I 

And  long  he  gazed 

As  one  amazed 
To  see  such  beauty  and  grace. 


A  moment  more,  and  the  lawless 

man 
Had  seized  his  struggling  prey, 

Without  remorse, 

And  taking  horse 
He  bore  the  lady  away. 


"Now  Heaven   be  praised!"  the 

nobleman  cried, 
"  For  many  a  mercy  to  me! 

I  bow  me  still 

Unto  his  will,  — 
God  pity  the  Tartar  I  "  said  he- 


THE   FOUR   MISFORTUNES. 


A   HEBREW   TALE. 


A  PIOUS  Rabbi,  forced  by  heathen 

hate 
To  quit   the  boundaries  of  his 

native  land, 
Wandered   abroad,  submissive   to 

his  fate, 

Through     pathless    woods    and 
wastes  of  burning  sand. 


A  patient  ass,  to  bear  him  in  his 

flight, 
A  dog,  to  guard  him  from  the 

robber's  stealth, 
A  lamp,  by  which  to  read  the  law 

at  night,  — 

Was  all   the  pilgrim's  store   of 
worldly  wealth. 


THE  FOUR  MISFORTUNES 


161 


At  set  of  sun  lie  reached  a  little 

town, 
And    asked   for    shelter  and  a 

crumb  of  food; 
But  every  face  repelled  him  with 

a  frown, 

And  so  he  sought  a  lodging  in 
the  wood. 


1  'T  is    very    hard,"    the    weary 

traveller  said, 

"And  most  inhospitable,  I  pro 
test, 
To  send  me  fasting  to  this  forest 

bed ; 

But  God  is  good,  and  means  it 
for  the  best!  " 


He  lit  his  lamp  to  read  the  sacred 

law, 
Before  he  spread  his  mantle  for 

the  night; 
But  the  wind  rising  with  o  sudden 

flaw, 

He  read  no  more,  —  the  gust  put 
out  the  light. 


" 'T  is   strange,"    he   said,   "'tis 

very  stmnge,  indeed, 
That  ere  I  lay  me  down  to  take 

inv  rest. 
A  chapter  of  the  law  I  may  not 

read,  — 

But  God  is  good,  and  a1.'  is  for 
the  best." 

VII. 

With   these   consoling   words   the 

Rabbi  tries 

To  sleep,  his  head  reposing  on  a 
log, 

11 


But,  ere  he  fairly  shut  his  drowsy 

eyes, 

A  wolf  came  up  and  killed  his 
faithful  dog. 


VIII. 

"What  new  calamity  is  this?" 

he  cried ; 
"  My  honest  dog —  a  friend  who 

stood  the  test 

When    others    failed  —  lies    mur 
dered  at  my  side ! 
Well,  —  God  is  good,  and  means 
it  for  the  best!  " 


Scarce    had    the    Rabbi    spoken, 

when,  alas ! 
As   if,    at  once,    to    crown    his 

wretched  lot, 
A  hungry  lion  pounced  upon  the 

ass, 

And  killed  the  faithful  donkey 
on  the  spot. 


"  Alas !  alas !  "  the  weeping  Rabbi 

said, 
"Misfortune   haunts  me  like  a 

hateful  guest; 
My  dog  is  gone,  and  now  my  ass 

is  dead. 

Well,  —  God   is  good,  and  all  is 
for  the  best!  " 


At  dawn  of  day,  imploring  heaven 
ly  grace, 

Once  more  he  sought  the  town; 
but  all  in  vain; 


162 


A  band  of  robbers  had  despoiled 

the  place, 

And    all    the    churlish   citizens 
were  slain ! 


THE    WANDERING  JEW. 

THE   WAXDEKIXG   JEW.? 

A   BALLAD. 


"  Now  God  be  praised !  "  the  grate 
ful  Rabbi  cried, 
"  If  I  had  tarried  in  the  town  to 

rest, 
I  too,   with   these   poor  villagers, 

had  died. 

Sure,  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for 
the  best ! 


XIII. 

''  Had  not  the  wanton  wind   put 

out  my  lamp, 
By  which  the  sacred  law  I  would 

have  read, 
The  light  had  shown  the  robbers 

to  my  camp, 

And  here  the  villains  would  have 
left  me  dead. 


"  Had  not    my   faithful    animals 

been  slain. 
Their  noise,  no  doubt,  had  drawn 

the  robbers  near, 
And   so  their  master,   it   is  very 

plain, 

Instead  of  them,  had  fallen  mur 
dered  here. 


"Full  well   I   see   that  this   hath 

happened  so 
To  put  my  faith  and  patience  to 

the  test. 
Thanks  to  His  name  !  for  now  I 

surely  know 

That  God  is  good,  and  all  is  for 
the  best:  " 


COME  list,  my  dear, 
And  you  shall  hear 
About   the   wonderful  Wandering 

Jew. 

Who  night  and  day, 
The  legends  say, 

Is  taking  a  journey  he  never  gets 
through. 

What  is  his  name, 
Or  whence  he  came, 
Or  whither  the   weary   wanderer 

goes; 

Or  wliv  he  should  stray 
In  this  singular  way, 
Many  have  marvelled,  but  nobody- 
knows. 

Though  oft,  indeed, 
(As  you  mav  read 
In    ancient    histories   quaint    and 

true, ) 

A  man  is  seen 
Of  haggard  inien 

Whom  people  call  the  Wandering 
Jew. 

Once  in  Brabant, 
With  garments  scant, 
And  shoeless  feet,  a  stranger  ap 
peared; 

His  step  was  slow, 
And  white  as  snow 
Were  his  waving  locks  and  flowing 
beard. 

His  cheek  was  spare, 
His  head  was  bare; 
And  little   he  recked  of  heat  or 

cold; 

Misfortune's  trace 
Was  in  his  face, 

And  he  seemed  at  least  a  century 
old. 


THE    WANDERING  JEW. 


1C3 


"  Now,  goodnvm,  bide," 
The  people  cried, 
'The    night   with    us, —  it  were 

surely  best; 
The  wind  is  cold, 
Ami  thou  art  old, 
And    sorelv   needest    shelter   and 
rest!  " 


"  Thanks  !  thanks !  "  said  he, 
''  It  may  not  lie 
That  I  should  tarry  the  night  with 

you  ; 

I  cannot  stay; 
T  must  away, 

For   I,  alas!    am   the   Wandering 
Jew!" 


"  We  oft  have  read,'' 

The  people  said, 

•'Thou    bearest   ever   a  nameless 
woe ; 

Now,  prithee  tell 

How  it  befell 
That  thou  art  always  wandering 


"The  time  would  fail 

To  tell  my  tale. 
And  yet  a  little,  ere  I  depart, 

Would  I  relate 

About  my  fate, 

For  some,  perhaps,  may  lay  it  to 
heart. 


"  When  but  a  youth 
(And  such,  in  sooth, 
Arc    ever  of   giddy  and   wanton 

mood), 

With  tearless  eye 
I  saw  pass  by 

The  Saviour  bearing  the  hateful 
rood. 


"  And  when  he  stooped, 

And,  groaning,  drooped 

And  staggered  and  fell  beneath  the 

weight, 

I  cursed  his  name, 
And  cried,  '  For  shame  ! 
Move  on,  blasphemer,  and  meet  thy 
fate  !  ' 

"  He  raised  his  head, 
And,  smiling,  said: 
'  Move  on  thyself  !    In  sorrow  and 

pain, 

When  I  am  gone 
Shalt  thou  move  on, 
Nor    rest    thy    foot    till    I    come 
again  !  ' 

"Alas!  the  time 

That  saw  my  crime,  — 
'T   was    more    than    a    thousand 
years  ago  ! 

And  since  that  hour 

Some  inward  power 
Has  kept  me  wandering  to  and  fro. 

"  I  fain  would  die 
That  I  might  lie 
With  those  who  sleep  in  the  silent 

tomb; 

But  not  for  me 
Is  rest,  —  till  He 

Shall    come   to  end  my   dreadful 
doom. 


"  The  pestilence 

That  hurries  hence 
A  thousand  souls  in  a  single  night 

Brings  mo  no  death 

Upon  its  breath, 
But  passes  by  in  its  wayward  flight. 

"The  storm  that  wrecks 
A  hundred  decks, 
And  drowns  the  shuddering,  shriek 
ing  crew 


164 


THE   THREE   GOOD  DAYS. 


SHI}  .eaves  nflo.it 
The  fragile  boat 

That  bears  the  life  of  the  Wander 
ing  Jew. 


"  But  I  must  away; 

I  cannot  stay; 
Nor  further  suffer  a  moment's  loss ; 

Heed  well  the  word 

That  ye  have  heard, — 
Nor  spurn  the  Saviour  who  bore 
the  Cross! " 


THE  THREE   GOOD   DAYS. 

A   LEGEND    OF   ITALY. 

IN  Casena  dwelt  a  widow; 

Worldly  fortune  she  had  none; 
Nor  a  single  near  relation 

Save  her  silly,  idle  son. 


Little  heeded  ne  her  counsel 

When  she  bade  him  stir  about,  — 

Ever  yawning,  dozing,  sleeping, 
Like  a  good-for-nothing  lout. 


Oft  and  oft  his  mother  told  him 
.   (Dame  Lucetta  was  her  name), 
'Rise,    Lucello!    (so    she    called 

him), 
Get  thee  out,  —  for  very  shame ! 


"  See,  the  sun  is  high  in  heaven! 

Quit,  my  boy,  your  lazy  bed; 
Go  and  seek  some  honest  labor; 

So  good  days  shall  crown  your 
head." 


Much  the  foolish  fellow  marvelled 
What  "good  days"  might 
chance  to  be; 

When,  at  last,  the  lad  determined 
He  would  even  go  and  see. 


So,  next   morning,  lo!    the   slug 
gard, 

Rising  lazily  and  late, 
Sauntered  forth,  and  on,  and  on 
ward, 
Till  he  reached  the  city  gate. 

Here  Lucello,  tired  with  walking 
In  the  sultry  summer  heat, 

Straightway    laid    him    clown    to 

slumber 
Right  across  the  trodden  street ! 


Now  it  chanced  three  wicked  rob 
bers, 

Coming  from  the  secret  place 
Where    their    stolen    wealth    was 

buried, 
Met  the  .stranger  face  to  face. 


And  the  first,  as  he  was  passing, 
Seeing  some  one  in  the  way 

(For  he  stumbled  on  the  sleeper). 
Bade  him  civilly,  "  Good  day  !  " 


"There    is    one!"     Lucello    an 
swered, 

Minding  what  the  dame  had  said. 
How  "good  days,"  for  good   be 
havior, 
Were  to  crown  his  luckv  head. 


But  the  robber,  conscience-smitten 
Touching  the  unlawful  pelf, 

Deemed   the   words  the    lad    had 

spoken 
Plainly  pointed  to  himself! 


THE  STORY  OF  ECHO. 


165 


Soon  nnother  robber,  passing; 
His  "  Good   day "   was   fain  to 

give : 
"Here   is  luck!"  exclaimed   Lu- 

cello, 
"That's  the  second,  as  I  live!  " 

Trembling,  now  the  rogues  awaited 
The  arrival  of  the  third. 

When    again    "  Good   day "    was 

given, 
Wliich  with  joy  Lucello  heard. 

s  Xumher    three,    by    all    that  's 

lucky!" 

Cried  the  buy,  with  keen  delight: 
"My  good  days  are  quickly  coming; 
Faith !    the    dame   was    in    the 
right!" 

Whereupon  the  robbers,  guessing 
That  the  lad  was  well  aware 

Of  the  treasure  they  had  hidden. 
Straightway  offered  him  a  share; 

Which  he  joyfully  accepted. 

And  in  triumph  carried  home, 
And  with  rapture  told  hi*  mother, 

How  his  lucky  days  hal  come! 


THE   STORY   OF  ECHO. 

A  BEAUTIFCL  maiden  was  Echo, 
As  classical  history  tells, 

A  favorite  nymph  of  Diana, 

Who  dwelt  among  forests  and 
dells. 

Now  Echo  was  very  loquacious, 
And  though  she  was  silly  and 
young, 

It  seems  that  she  never  was  weary 
Of  plying  her  voluble  tongue. 


And,  I  'm  sorry  to  say  in  addition, 
Besides  her  impertinent  clack, 

She  had,  upon  every  occasion, 
A  habit  of  answering  back. 

Though  even  the  wisest  of  matrons 
In  grave  conversation  was  heard, 

Miss  Echo  forever  insisted 
On  having  the  ultimate  word,  — 

A  fault  so  exceedingly  hateful, 
That  Jimo(whom  Echo  betrayed 

While  the  goddess  was  hearing  the 

babble) 
Determined  to  punish  the  maid. 

Said  she :  "In  reward  of  your  folly, 
Henceforward  in  vain  you  will 
try 

To  talk  in  the  manner  of  others; 
At  best,  you  can  only  reply!" 

A  terrible  pun:shment  truly 
For  one  of  so  lively  a  turn, 
And  it  brought  the  poor  maiden  to 

ruin; 

The   way  you    shall    presently 
learn. 

For,  meeting  the  handsome  Nar 
cissus, 

And  wishing  his  favor  to  gain, 
Full  often  she  tried  to  address  him, 

But  always  endeavored  in  vaii1. 

And  when,  as  it  finally  happened, 
He  spoke  to  the  damsel  onedny. 

Her  answers  seemed  only  to  mock 

him, 
And  drove  him  in  anger  away. 

Ah !    sad   was    the   fate   of   poor 
Echo,  — 

Was  ever  so  hapless  a  maid  ? 
She  wasted  away  in  her  sorrow 

Until  she  was  wholly  decayed. 


166 


A    CASE   OF   CONSCIENCE. 


But  her  voice  is  still  living  immor-   | 

tal,- 
The  sa-ue  you  have  frequently   I 

heard, 
In   your  rambles   in  valleys    and 

forests, 
Repeating  your  ultimate  word ! 


A   CASE   OF   CONSCIENCE. 

Two  College  Professors,  —  I  won't    ! 
give  their  names 

(Call  one  of  them  Jacob,  the  other 
one  James),  — 

Two  College  Professors,  who  ne'er 
in  their  lives 

Had  wandered  before  from  the  care 
of  their  wives, 

One  day  in  vacation,  when  lectures 
were  through, 

And   teachers   and    students    had 
nothing  to  d"1, 

Took  it  into  their  noddles  to  go  to 
the  Races, 

To  look  at  the  nags,  and  examine 
their  paces, 

And  find  out  the  meaning  of  "  bolt 
ing"  and  "  baiting," 

And    t  >e    (cle  irly    preposterous) 
practice  of  •'  waiting," 

And  "laying  long  odds,"  and  the 
other  queer  capers 

Which  cram  the  reports  that  ap 
pear  in  the  papers ; 

And   whether   a   "stake"   is    the 
same  as  a  post? 

And  how  far  a   "heat"  may  re 
semble  a  roast? 

And  whether   a  "hedge,"  in  the 
language  of  sport, 

Is  much  like  the  plain  agricultural 
sort,  ? 


And  if  "  making  p,  book  "  is  a  thing 
which  requires 

A  practical  printer?  and  who  are 
th=>  buyers  ?  — 

Such  matters  as  these,  —  very 
proper  to  know,  — 

And  no  thought  of  betting,  in 
duced  them  to  go 

To  the  Annual  Races,  which  then 
were  in  force 

(Horse-racing,  in  fact,  is  a  matter 
of  course, 

Apart  from  the  pun)  in  a  neighbor 
ing  town ; 

And  so,  as  I  said,  the  Professors 
went  down. 

The  day  was  the  finest  that  ever 
was  known ; 

The  atmosphere  just  of  that  tem 
perate  tone 

Which  pleases  the  Spirit  of  (ma'i 
and)  the  Times, 

Hut  impossible,  quite,  to  describe 
in  my  rhymes. 

The  track  had  been  put  in  a  capital 
plight 

By  a  smart  dash  of  rain  on  the  prf  .- 
vious  night, 

And  all  things  "  went  ofiT"  —  savn 
some  of  the  horses  — 

As  lively  as  crickets  or  Kansas  d  *• 
vorces ! 


Arrived  at  the  ground,  it  is  easy  to 

guess 
Our  worthy  Professors'  dismay  and 

distress 

At  all  the  queer  things  which  ex 
panded  their  eyes 
(Not  to  mention   their  ears)  to  a 

wonderful  size! 
How  they  stared  at   the  men  who 

were  playing  at  poker, 
And   scolded   the   chap    with   the 

'•  sly  little  joker  "  : 
And  the  boy  who  had  •'  something 

uncommonly  nice," 


THE   ORIGIN   OF'    WINE. 


167 


Which  he  ottered  to  sell  at  a  very 
high  price,  — 

A  volume  that  did  n't  seem  over- 
refined, 

And  clearly  was  not  of  the  Sunday- 
school  kind. 

All  this,  ami  much  more, — but 
yntir  patience  will  fail, 

Unless  I  desist,  and  go  on  with  my 
tale. 

Our  worthy  Professors  no  sooner 

had  found 
Their   (ten-shilling)   seats    in   the 

circular  ground, 
And  looked  at  the  horses,  —  when, 

presently,  came 
A  wish  to  know  what  was  the  Fa- 

rorite's  name; 
And  ho\v  stood  the  betting,  —  quite 

plainly  revealing 
The  old  irrepressible  horse-race-y 

feeling 
Which  is  born  in  the  bone,  and  is 

apt  to  come  out 
When  thorough-bred  coursers  are 

snorting  about. 

The  Professors,  in  fact,  —  I  am 
grieved  to  report.  — 

At  the  very  first  match  entered 
into  the  sport, 

And  bet  (with  each  other)  their 
money  away  — 

Just  Fifty  apiece  —  on  the  Broivn 
and  the  Bay ; 

And  shouted  as  loud  as  they  ever 
could  bellow, 

"  Hurrah  for  the  filly  !  "  and  "  Go 
it,  old  fellow!" 

And,  "Stick  to  your  business!" 
and  "  Rattle  your  pegs!  " — 

Like  a  jolly  old  brace  of  profes 
sional  "  Legs !  " 

The  race  being  over,  quoth  Jacob, 

"  I  see 
My  wager  is  forfeit ;  to  that  I  agree 


The  Fifty  is  yours,  by  the  techni 
cal  rules 

Observed,  I  am  told,  by  these 
horse-racing  fools; 

But  then,  as  a  Christian,  —  I'm 
sorry  to  say  it,  — 

My  Conscience,  you  know,  won't 
allow  me  to  pay  it !  " 

"No  matter,"  quoth  James,  "I 
can  hardly  refuse 

To  accord  with  your  sound  theo 
logical  views: 

A  tardy  repentance  is  better  than 
none; 

I  must  tell  you,  however,  'twas 
your  horse  that  won ! 

But  of  course  you  won't  think  of 
demanding  the  pelf. 

For  /have  a  conscience  as -well  as 
yourself!  " 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  WINE. 


A    GERMAN    LEGEND. 


RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  TO  O.  M. 
TISKHAM,  ESQ. 


YE  friends  of  good  cheer,  I  pray 

you  give  ear; 
I  sing  of  old  Noah  who  planted 

the  vine; 
But  first,  if  you  please,  our  thirst 

to  appease, 

Let's   drink  to  his  health  in  a 
bumper  of  wine ! 


When   the   Deluge   was  o'er,  and 

good  Father  Noah 
Sat  moping  one  day  in  the  shade 
of  a  tree, 


1C8 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


An  Angel  came  near,  and  thinking 

it  queer, 

Said:  "Tell  me,  I   pray,  what 
the  matter  may  be." 


in. 

Says   Noah:  "I'm   curst  with   a 

horrible  thirst; 
So  painful,  indeed,  I  am  ready 

to  sink ; 
I  have  plenty  to  eat,  there  's   no 

lack  of  meat ; 

But,    sir,    on    my    honor,    I've 
nothing  to  drink!  " 


"See,  on  every  side,"  the  Angel 

replied, 
"There  is  water  enough  both  in 

river  and  rill, 

Your  fever  to  slake,  — not  to  men 
tion  the  lake, 

And  many  a  fountain  that  flows 
from  the  hill." 


Says  Noah:  "I  know  the  waters 

still  flow, 
But  the  Deluge  has  ruined  the 

fluid  for  drink; 
So  many  bad  men  were  soaked  in 

it  then, 

The  water  now  tastes  of  the  sin 
ners,  I  think." 


"It  can't  be  denied,"  the  Angel 

replied, 
"  There  is  something  of  reason  in 

what  you  have  said; 
Since  the  water  is  bad,  it  is  fitting 

you  had 

A  good  wholesome  tipple  to  drink 
in  its  stead." 


Then  flying  away,  the  very  next 

clay 
The   Angel  came   back   with  a 

handful  of  seeds; 
And    taught   the    good    man    the 

properest  plan 

Of   planting,    and    hoeing,    and 
killing  the  weeds. 


Ah!   what    color  and  shape!    'th 

the  beautiful  grape; 
In  cluster*  of  purple  they  hang 

from  the  vine; 
And  these  being  pressed,  it  is  easily 

guessed 

Old  Xoah  thenceforward  drank 
nothing  but  wine. 


So,  a  cup  ere  we  part  to  the  man 

of  our  heart, 
Old  Noah,  the  primitive  grower 

of  wine; 
And  one   brimming  cup  (nay,  fill 

it  quite  up) 

To  the  Angel  who  gave  him  the 
seed  of  the  vine ! 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


ONCE  on  a  time  there  flourished  in 

Nevers, 
Within  a  nunnery  of  godly  note, 

A  famous  parrot,  so  exceeding  fair 
In  the  deep  lustre  of  his  emerald 
coat, 

They  called  him  Yer-Vert, — syl 
lables  that  mean 

In    English    much    the    same    as 
Double  Green. 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


169 


II. 

In  youth  transplanted  from  :in  In 
dian  strand, 

For  his  soul's  heulth  with  Chris- 
thin  folks  to  dwell, 

His  morals  yet  were  pure,  his  man 
ners  bland; 

Gav,  handsome,   brilliant,  and, 
the  truth  to  tell, 

Pert  and   loquacious*,  as  became 
his  age; 

In  short,  well  worthy  of  his  holy 
cage. 


Dear  to  the  sisters  for  his  winning 

ways 
Was   tray  Yer-Yert;    they  kept 

him  ever  near, 
And  kindly   taught   him  many  a 

holy  phra>e, 
Enforced  with  titbits  from  their 

daily  cheer, 
And  loved  him  better,  they  would 

oft  declare, 
Than  any  one,  except  their  darling 

Mere  ! 


Ah !  ne'er  was  parrot  happier  than 

he; 
And  happy  was  the  lucky  girl 

of  whom 
He  asked  —  according  as  his  whim 

might  be  — 
The  privilege  at  eve  to  share  her 

room, 
Where,  perched  upon  the  relics,  he 

would  sleep 
Through  the  long  night  in  slumber 

calm  and  deep. 


At  length,  what  joy  to  see !  —  the 

bird  had  grown, 

With  good  example,  thoughtful 
and  devout, 


He  said  his  prayers  in  such  a  nasal 

tone, 

His   pietv  was  quite   beyond   a 
doubt; 

And  some  declared  that  soon,  with 
proper  teaching, 

He  'd  rival  the  Superior  at  preach 
ing! 


If  any  laughed  to  see  his  solemn 

ways, 
In  curt  rebuke,  "  Orate  /"  *  he 

replied; 
And   when   his   zeal    provoked  a 

shower  of  praise, 
"Deo  sit  laus!"  t  the  humble 

novice  cried; 
And  many  said  they  did  n't  mind 

confessing 
His  "  Pax  sit  tecum!"  |  brought 

a  special  blessing. 


Such    wondrous    talents,    though 

awhile  concealed, 
Could   not  be  kept   in   secresy 

forever; 
Some  babbling  nun   the  precious 

truth  revealed, 
And  all  the  town  must  see  a  bird 

so  clever; 
Until  at  last  so  wide  the  wonder 

grew, 
'T  was  fairly  bruited  all  the  coun- 

trv  through. 


VIII. 

And  so  it  fell,  by  most  unlucky 

chance, 
A    distant    city  of   the    parrot 

heard ; 

*  Pray  ! 

t  Praise  be  to  God. 

t  Peace  be  with  j  ou. 


170 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


The  story  reached  some  sister-nuns 

at  Nnntz, 

Who  fain  themselves  would  see 
this  precious  bird 

Whose  zeal  and  learning  had  suf 
ficed  to  draw 

On  blest   Nevers  such  honor  and 
eclat. 


What  could  they  do?  —  well,  here 

is  what  they  did, 
To   the  good   Abbess  presently 

there  went 
A    friendly  note,    in    which    the 

writers  bid 
A    thousand    blessings    hasten 

their  descent 
Upon  her  honored    house,  —  and 

would  she  please 
To  grant  a  favor  asked  upon  their 

knees  ? 


'T  was  only  this,  that  she  would 

deign  to  lend 
For  a  brief  space  that  charming 

parroquet; 
They  hoped  the  bold  request  might 

not  offend 
Her  ladyship,  but  then  they  fain 

would  get 
Such  proof  as  only  he  could  well 

advance 
To  silence  certain  sceptic  nuns  of 

Nantz. 


The  letter  came  to  hand,  and  such 

a  storm 
Of  pious  wrath  was  never  heard 

before; 

The  mildest  sister  waxed  exceed 
ing  warm,  — 

"Perdre    Ver  -  Vert!     0   del! 
plutut  la  mart .'  " 


They  all  broke  forth  in  one  terrific 

cry, 
What?  —  lose    their    darling?  — 

they  would  rather  die ! 


But,  on  reflection,  it  was  reckoned 

best 
To  take  the  matter  into  grave 

debate, 
And  put  the  question  fairly  to  the 

test 
(Which  seemed,  indeed,  a  nice 

affair  of  state), 
If  they  should  lend  their  precious 

'pet  or  not; 

And  so  they  held  a  session,  long 
and  hot. 


XIII. 

The  sisters  all   with  one  accor  i 

express 

Their    disapproval    in   a  noisy 
"No!  " 

The  graver  dame  —  who  loved  the 

parrot  less  — 

Declared,   Perhaps  't  were  bei't 
to  let  him  go ; 

Refusal  was  ungracious,  and,  in 
deed, 

An  ugly  quarrel  might  suffice  to 
breed. 


XIV. 

Vain  was  the  clamor  of  the  younger 

set; 
"Just  fifteen   days   and   not  a 

moment  more  " 
(Mamma  decided)  ''we  will  lend 

our  pet; 

Of  course  his  absence  we  shall 
all  deplore, 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


171 


But  then,  remember,  he  is  only  lent 
For  two  short  weeks," — and  off 
the  parrot  went ! 


xv. 

[n  the  same  bark  that  bore  the 

bird  away 

Were  several  Gascons  and  a  vul 
gar  nurse, 
Besides  two  Cyprian  ladies ;  sooth 

•to  say, 
Ver- Vert's  companions  could  n't 

have  been  worse. 
Small  profit  such  a  youth  might 

hope  to  gain 

From  wretches  so  licentious  and 
profane. 


XVI. 

Their  manners  struck  him  as  ex 
tremely  queer; 

Such  oaths  and  curses  he  had 
never  heard 

As    now    in   volleys   stunned    his 

saintly  ear; 

Although  he  did  n't  understand 
a  word, 

Their    conversation     seemed    im 
proper,  very, 

To  one  brought  up  within  a  mon- 
asterv. 


XVII. 

For  his,  remember,  was  a  Christian 

tongue 
Unskilled   in  aught  save  pious 

prose  or  verse 
Bv  his  good  sisters  daily  said  or 

sung; 
And  now  to   hear  the  Gascons 

and  the  nurse 
Go  on  in   such  a  roaring,  ribald 

way, 
He  knew  not  what  to  think,  nor 

what  to  sav. 


And  so  he  mused  in  silence;  till  at 

last 
The  nurse  reproached  him  for  a 

sullen  fool, 
And  poured  upon  him  a  terrific 

blast 
Of   questions,   such    as,    where 

he  'd  been  to  school  V 
And   was   lie    used    to   travelling 

about  V 
And  did  his  mother  know  that  he 

was  out  V 


XIX. 

"Ace  Maria  !  "  *  said  the  parrot, 

—  vexed 
By  so  much  banter  into  sudden 

speech, — 
Whereat  all  laughed  to  hear  the 

holy  text, 
And  cried,  "  By, Jove!  the  chap 

is  going  to  preach!  " 
"Come,"  they  exclaimed,  "let's 

have  a  song  instead." 
"Confute  Domino!"  t    the  par 
rot  said. 


At  this  reply  they  laughed  so  loud 

and  long 
That   poor  Ver- Vert  was  fairly 

stricken  dumb. 
In  vain   they    teased    him    for  a> 

merry  song; 
Abashed  by  ridicule  and  quite- 

o'ercome 
With  virnlfiit  abuse,  the  wretched 

bird 
For  two  whole  days  refused    to 

speak  a  word. 


*  Hail  Mary. 

t  Let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord. 


172 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


Meanwhile  he  listened  to  their  vile 

discourse 

In   deep   disgust;   but   still  the 
stranger  thought 

Their  slang  surpassed  in  freedom, 

pith,  and  force 

The  purer  language  which  the 
missal  taught, 

And   seemed,   besides,    an    easier 
tongue  to  speak 

Than  prayer-book  Latin  or  monas 
tic  Greek. 

XXII. 

In  short,  to  tell   the   melancholy 

truth, 

Before  the  boat  had  reached  its 
destined  shore 

He  who  embarked  a  pure,  ingen 
uous  youth, 

Had    grown    a    profligate,    and 
cursed  and  swore 

Such  dreadful  oaths  as  e'en  the 
Gascons  heard 

With    shame,    and    said,     "  The 
Devil's  in  the  bird!" 

XXIII. 

At  length  the  vessel   has   arrived 

in  port 

And  half  the  sisterhood  are  wait 
ing  there 

To  greet  their  guest,  and  safely  to 

escort 

To  their  own  house  the  wonder 
ful  Ver-Vert,  — 

The  precious   parrot  whom  their 
fancies  paint 

Crowned  with  a  halo  like  a  very 
saint ! 

XXIV. 

Great  was  the  clamor  when  their 

eyes  beheld 

The  charming  stranger  in  the 
emerald  coat ; 


"Ver-Vert,    indeed!" — his  very 

hue  compelled 
A  shout  of  praise  that  reached 

the  highest  note. 
"  And  then  such  eyes !  and  such  a 

graceful  walk ! 
And   soon  —  what    rapture !  —  we 

shall  hear  him  talk!  " 


At  length  the  Abbess,  in  a  nasal 

chant 
(Intended,  doubtless,  fora  pretty 

speech), 
Showered  him  with  thanks  that  he 

had  deigned  to  grant 
His  worthy  presence  there,  and 

to  beseech 
His  benediction  in  such  gracious 

terms 
As   might   befit    the   sinfulest  of 

worms. 


Alas  for  youthful  piety !  the  bird, 
Still   thinking  o'er  the    lessons 

latest  learned, 
For  a  full  minute  answered  not  a 

word, 
And    then,    as    if  to   show  how 

much  he  spurned 
The   early  teachings  of  his  hofy 

school, 
He  merely  muttered,  "Curse  the 

sill  V  fool!" 


XXVII. 

The  'ady,  startled  at  the  queer  re 
mark. 
Could  not  but  think  that  she  had 

heard  amiss ; 
And  so  began  to  speak  again,  — 

but  hark ! 
What  diabolic  dialect  is  this?  — 


THE  PARROT   OF  NEVERS. 


173 


Such    language    for  a  saint  was 

most  improper, 
Each   word    an    oath,    and  every 

oath  a  whopper ! 


XXVIII. 

"  Parbleu  !  "     "  Morbleu  !  "     and 

every  azure  curse 
To  pious   people   strictly  disal- 

•  lowed, 
Including  others  that  were  vastly 

worse. 

Cp.me  rattling  forth  on  the  aston 
ished  crowd 
In  such  a  storm  that   one  might 

well  compare 

The    dreadful    volley    to    a   ftu 
d'enftr  ! 


XXIX. 

All  stood  aghast  in  horror  and  dis 
may  ; 

Some   cried,    "For    shame!    is 
that  the  way  they  teach 

Their  pupils  at  NoversV"     Some 

ran  away, 

Rending  the  welkin  with  a  pier 
cing  screech; 

Some  stopt  their  cars  for  modesty; 
and  some 

(Though    shocked)    stood    waiting 
something  worse  to  come. 


In  brief,   the  dame,   replete   with 
holy  rage 

At   being   thus    insulted   and  dis 
graced. 

Shut  up  t  lie  hateful  parrot  in  his 

cage, 

And  sent  him  back  with  all  con 
venient  haste 


And  this  indignant  note:  "In  time 

to  come 
Be  pleased  to  keep  your  precious 

prize  at  home!  " 

XXXI. 

When  to  Xevcrs  the  wicked  wan 
derer  came, 

All  were  delighted  at  his  quick 
return ; 

But  who  can  paint   their  sorrow 

and  their  shame 

When  the  sad  truth  the  gentle 
sisters  learn, 

That  he  who  left  them   chanting 
pious  verses, 

Now  greets  his  friends  with  horrid 
oaths  and  curses ! 

XXXII. 

'T  is  said  that  after  many  bitter 
days 

In  wholesome  solitude  and  penance 
passed, 

Ver-Vcrt  grew  meek,  reformed  his 

wicked  ways. 

And  died  a  hopeful  penitent  at 
last. 

The    moral    of    my    story    is  n't 
deep,  — 

"Young  folks,  beware  what  com 
pany  you  keep !  " 


KING   SOLOMON  AND  THE 
BEE&. 

A   TALE   OF   THE   TALMUD. 


WHEN   Solomon  was  reigning  in 

his  glory, 

Unto   his  throne  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  came, 


174 


KING  SOLOMON  AND    THE  BEES. 


(So  in  the  Talmud  you  may  read 

the  story) 

Drawn  by  the  magic  of  the  mon 
arch's  fame, 

To  see  the  splendors  of  his  court, 
and  bring 

Some  fitting  tribute  to  the  mighty 
king. 


Nor  this   alone;    much  had    her 

Highness  heard 

What  flowers  of  learning  graced 
the  royal  speech ; 

What   gems   of   wisdom    dropped 

with  every  word ; 
What  wholesome  lessons  he  was 
wont  to  teach 

In    pleasing    proverbs;     and    she 
wished,  in  sooth, 

To  know  if  Humor  spoke  the  sim 
ple  truth. 


Besides,    the    queen     had    heard 

(which  piqued  her  most) 
How  through  the  deepest  riddles 

he  could  spy ; 
How    all    the    curious    arts    that 

women  boast 
Were   quite   transparent  to  his 

piercing  eye; 
And  so  the  queen  had  come  —  a 

royal  guest  — 
To  put  the  sage's  cunning  to  the 

test. 


And  straight  she  held  before  the 

monarch's  view, 
In  either  hand,  a  radiant  wreath 

of  flowers ; 
The    one,    bedecked    with    every 

charming  hue. 

Was  newly  culled  from  Nature's 
choicest  bowers; 


The  other,   no  less  fair   in  every 

part, 
Was  the  rare  product  of  divinest 

Art. 


"  Which  is  the  true,  and  which  the 

false?  "  she  said. 
Great  Solomon  was  silent.     All- 
amazed, 

Each  wondering  courtier  shook  his 

puzzled  head, 

While  at  the  garlands  long  the 
monarch  ga/cd, 

As  one  who   sees  a  miracle,  and 
fain, 

For    very    rapture,    ne'er    would 
speak  again. 


"  Which  is  the  true?  "  once  more 

the  woman  asked, 
Pleased  at  the  fond  amazement 

of  the  king, 
"  So  wise   a  head  should  not  be 

hardly  tasked, 
Most  learned  liege,  with  such  a 

trivial  thing!  " 
But  still  the    sage  was  silent;    it 

was  plain 
A  deepening  doubt  perplexed  the 

roval  brain. 


While  thus  he  pondered,  presently 

he  sees, 
Hard  by  the  casement,  —  so  the 

story  goes,  — 
A  little   band  of   busy,    bustling 

bees, 

Hunting  for  honey  in  a  withered 
rose. 


Till-:  PIOUS  BRAHMIN  AND  HIS  NEIGHBORS.       175 


The  monarch  smiled,   and   raised 

his  royal  head; 
"  Open  the  window  !  "  —  that  was 

all  he  said. 

VIII. 

The  window  opened  at  the  king's 

command; 

Within  the  room  the  eager  in 
sects  flew, 

And -sought  the  flowers  in  Sheba's 
dexter  hand ! 

And  so  the  king  and  all  the  cour 
tiers  knew 

That  wreath  was    Nature's;   and 
the  baffled  queen 

Returned  to  tell  the  wonders  she 
had  seen. 


My     story    teaches     (every     tale 

should   bear 
A  fitting  moral)  that  the   wise 

may  find 

ID  trifles  light  as  atoms  in  the  air, 
Some  useful  lesson  to  enrich  the 

mind, 
Some  truth  designed  to  profit  or  to 

please,  — 

As  Israel's  king  learned  wisdom 
from  the  bees ! 


THE  PIOUS    BRAHMIN  AND 
HIS  NEIGHBORS. 

A   HINDOO    FABLE. 

A  PIOUS  Brahmin  made  a  vow 

Upon  a  certain  day 
fo  sacrifice  a  fatted  sheep; 

And  so,  his  vow  to  pay, 
One  morning  to  the  market-place 

The  Brahmin  took  his  way. 


It   chanced  three  cunning  neigh 
bors, 

Three  rogues  of  brazen  brow, 
Had  formed  the  wicked  purpose 

(My  tale  will  tell  you  how), 
To  cheat  the  pious  Brahmin, 

And  profit  by  his  vow. 

The  leader  of  these  cunning  knaves 
Went  forth  upon  the  road, 

And  bearing  on  bis  shoulders 
What  seemed  a  heavy  load, 

He  met  the  pious  Brahmin 
Not  far  from  his  abode. 

"  What    have    you   there  ? "    the 
Brahmin  said. 

"  Indeed,"  the  man  replies, 
"  I  have  the  finest,  fattest  sheep, 

And  of  the  largest  size; 
A  sheep  well  worthy  to  be  slain 

In  solemuj^acrifice !  " 

And  then  the  rogue  laid  down  his 

load, 

And  from  a  bag  drew  forth 
A    scurvy   dog.      "See    there!" 

he  cried, 

"  The  finest  sheep  on  earth ! 
And  you  shall  have  him,   if  vou 

"  will, 
For  less  than  he  is  worth." 

"  Wretch !  "  cried  the  pious  Brali  • 
min, 

"  To  call  a  beast  so  mean 
A  goodly  sheep !     'T  is  but  a  dog 

Accursed  and  unclean; 
The  foulest,  leanest,  lamest  cur 

That  ever  vet  was  seen!  " 


Just  then  the  second  rogue  came 

up. 
"What   luck!"    he   said,    "to 

find 

So  soon  a  sheep  in  flesh  and  fleece 
Exactly  to  mv  mind  !  " 


176 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  NICK    VAN  STANN. 


"  A  sheep  V  "  exclaimed  Uie  Bra.li- 

min, 
"  Then  I  am  surely  blind!  " 


"  You  must  be  very  blind  indeed, 

Or  fond  of  telling  lies, 
To  say  the  beast  is  not  a  sheep !  " 

The  cunning  rogue  replies; 
"  Go    get,  a  leech  to  mend  your 
tongue, 

Or  else  to  mend  vour  eyes !  " 


Now   while    these    men   disputed 

thus. 

The  other  rogue  drew  near, 
And  all  agreed  this  honest  man 

Should  make  the  matter  clear. 
"  0  stranger !  "  cried  the  Brahmin, 
"  What      creature      have      we 
here?  " 


"A  goodly  sheep!  "  the  stranger 

said*. 

"  Alas!  "  the  Brahmin  cried, 
"A  moment  since  I  would  have 

sworn 

This  honest  fellow  lied ; 
But  now  I  know  it  is  a  sheep, 
Since  thus  you  all  decide !  " 

And  so  it  was  the  cunning  knaves 
Prevailed  in  their  device; 

The  pious  Brahmin  bought  the  dog, 
Nor  higgled  at  the  price. 

'"Twill  make,"  he  said,    "unto 

the  gods 
A  pleasing  sacrifice!  " 


But  ill  betide  the  fatal  hour 
His  filthy  blood  was  shed ; 

It  brought  no  benison,  alas! 
Upon  the  Brahmin's  head; 

The  gods  were  angry  at  the  deed, 
And  sent  a  curse  instead ! 


The  meaning  of  this  pleasant  tale 

Is  very  plainly  shown; 
The  man  is  sure  to  fall,  at  last, 

Who  does  n't  stand  alone; 
Don't  trust  to  other  people's  eyes, 

But  learn  to  mind  your  own ! 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  NICK  VAN 
STANN.s 

I  CANNOT  vouch  my  tale  is  true, 
Norswear,  indeed,  't  is  wholly  new; 
But,  true  or  false,  or  new  or  old, 
I  think  you  '11  find  it  fairly  told. 
A    Frenchman,  who   had   ne'er 

before 

Set  foot  upon  a  foreign  shore, 
Weary  of  home,  resolved  to  go 
And  see  what  Holland  had  to  show. 
He  did  n't  know  a  word  of  Dutch, 
But  that  could  hardly  grieve  him 

much ; 

He   thought,  —  as    Frenchmen  al 
ways  do.  — 

That  all  the  world  could  parley- 
mo  ! 

At  length  our  eager  tourist  stands 
Within  the  famous  Netherlands, 
And,  strolling  gayly  here  and  there 
In  search  of  something  rich  or  rare, 
A  lordly  mansion  greets  his  eyes. 
"  How  beautiful ! ' '  the  Frenchman 

cries, 

And,  bowing  to  the  man  who  sate 
In  livery  at  the  garden-gate; 
"  Pray,  Mr.  Porter,  if  you  please, 
Whose  very  charming  grounds  are 

these  ? 
And  —  pardon  me  —  be  pleased  to 

tell 
•Who  in  this  splendid  house  may 

dwell?  " 

To  which,  in  Dutch,  the  puzzled 
man 


Till-:  FISHERMAN  AND    THE  FLOUNDER. 


177 


Replied  what  seemed  like  "  Nick 

Van  Stftnn."  * 
"Thanks!"  said  the  Gaul,  "the 

owner's  taste 

Ts  equally  superb  and  chaste; 
So  fine  a  house,  upon  my  word, 
Not  even  Paris  can  afi'onl. 
With  statues,  too,  in  every  niche, 
Of  course,  Monsieur  Van  Stann  is 

rich, 

And  lives,  I  warrant,  like  a  king,  — 
Ah!  'wealth  must  be  a  charming 

thing!  " 
In  Amsterdam   the  Frenchman 

meets 

A  thousand  wonders  in  the  streets; 
Kut  most  lie  marvels  to  behold 
A  lady  dressed  in  silk  ami  gold. 
Gazing  with  rapture  at  the  da/ne, 
He  begs  to  know  the  lady's  name, 
And  hears — to  raise  his  wonder 

more  — 

The  very  words  he  heard  before. 
'•  J/era'« /"    he   cries,   "well,  on 

my  life, 

Milord  has  got  a  charming  wife; 
'T  is  plain  to  see,  this  Nick    Van 

Stann 
Must  be  a  very  happy  man!  " 

Next  day,  our  tourist  chanced 

to  pop 

His  head  within  a  lottery-shop, 
And  there  he  saw,   with  staring 

eyes, 
The    drawing    of   the    Mammoth 

Prize 
"Ten    Millions!     'T  is    a    pretty 

sum ; 

I  wish  I  had  as  much  at  home! 
I  'd  like  to  know,  as  I  'm  a  sinner, 
What  lucky  fellow  is  the  winner." 
Conceive  our  traveller's  amaze 
To    hear    again     the     hackneyed 

phrase ! 

*  Ik  kan  niet  verstaan,  —  I  don't  un 
derstand. 

12 


;  What!  No?  not  Nick  Van  Stann 


Faith  !  he  's  the  luckiest  of  men ! 
You  may  be  sure  we  don't  advance 
So  rapidly  as  that  in  France. 
A  house,  the  finest  in  the  land; 
A  lovely  garden,  nicely  planned; 
A  perfect  angel  of  a  wife, 
And  gold  enough  to  last  a  life,  — 
There  never  yet  was  mortal  man 
So   blest   as  Monsieur  Nick    \'<in 
Stann  ! 

Next  day  the  Frenchman  chanced 

to  meet 

A  pompous  funeral  in  the  street, 
And  asking  one  who  stood  near  by 
What   nobleman    had    pleased   to 

die? 

Was  stunned  to  hear  the  old  reply. 
The  Frenchman  sighed  and  shook 

his  head. 
"  Mon  Ditu  !  poor  Nick  Van  Stann 

is  dead! 
With   such  a  house,  and  such  a 

wife, 

It  must  be  hard  to  part  with  life; 
And  then,  to  lose  that  Mammoth 

Prize  — 
He  wins,  and  —  pop !  —  the  winner 

dies! 
Ah!    well,   his  blessings  came  so 

fast 

I  greatly  feared  they  could  n't  last ; 
And  thus,  we  see,  the  swoyd  of 

Fate 
Cuts   down   alike   the   small    and 

great!  " 


THE    FISIIEKMAN    AND    THE 
FLOUNDER. 

A   GEliMAN    FAIKY   TALE. 

A  FISIIEKMAN,  poor  as  poor  can  be, 
Who  lived  in  a  hovel  beside  the  sea, 


178 


THE  FISHERMAN  AND    THE  FLOUNDER. 


Was  fishing  one  day,  when  "  Lo !  " 

he  crie.s, 

"I  've  caught  a  flounder  of  won 
drous  size. 
As   fine  a  flounder  as  one  could 

wish!" 
"  0  no,  yon  have  n't !  "  exclaimed 

the  fish; 
"In  spite  of  my  scaly  skin,"  he 

said, 

"  I  am  not  a  fish,  but  a  Prince  in 
stead  ; 
Condemned  to  suffer  this  watery 

woe ; 
So  I  beg,  good  man,  you  will  let 

me  go! '' 
The  fisherman,  frightened  at  what 

he  heard, 
Let  the  flounder  go  with  never  a 

word 

Except  "  Good  by !  I'd  rather  es 
chew 
Than  cook   a  flounder  who  talks 

like  you !  " 
His    hovel    now    the    fisherman 

sought, 
And  told  his  wife  of  the  fish  he 

caught, 
And    how    his    luck   was    all    in 

vain, 

For  he  let  the  flounder  off  again ! 
"  And  did  you  ask  for  nothing?  — 

alack!" 
The  woman  cried:  "  Go  presently 

back, 
And  tell  the  Prince  of  our  wretched 

lot, 
And   ask  him   to  give  us  a  finer 

cot!  " 
To  mind  his  wife  he  was  something 

loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she 

was  wroth ; 

And  so  he  went  to  the  ocean-side, 
And   thus    the    fisherman    loudly 

cried : 

"  0  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me; 


For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants   queer    things   I   fear   to 

name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming 

near, 

Said,  "  Why,  0  why,  am  I  sum 
moned  here  V  " 

And  the  trembling  fisherman  an 
swered  thus : 
"My   dame  is   always   making  a 

fuss ; 

A  cosey  hovel  is  hers  and  mine, 
But  she  fain  would  have  a  cottage 

fine!" 
"Go  home."  said  the  fish,  "this 

very  minute; 
The  cottage   is  hers;   you'll   find 

her  in  it!  " 

He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and  lo ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 
"  How  happy,"  he  cried,  "  we  now 

shall  be!" 
But  the   woman  answered,  "We 

shall  see!  " 

When  a  month  was  past,  the  wo 
man  sighed 
For  a  larger  house.     "Now  go," 

she  cried, 
"And   tell  the  flounder  ('tis  my 

command) 
I     want     a     mansion    large     and 

grand !  " 
To  mind   the  dame  he  was  truly 

loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she 

was  wroth ; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And   loudly    thus   the    fisherman 

criei: 

"  0  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me: 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants   queer    things    I   fear   to 

name." 
Whereat   the  flounder,  swimming 

near, 
Said,  "  Why  again  am  I  summoned 

here  ?  " 


THE  FISHERMAN  AND   THE  FLOUNDER. 


179 


And  the  trembling  fisherman  an 
swered  thus: 

"My  wile  is  always  making  a 
fuss; 

She  deems  our  cottage  much  too 


She   want-*  a  mansion  large   and 

.  tall." 
"Go  home,"  said  the  fish,   "this 

very  minute; 
The  mansion  is  there;  you'll  find 

•  her  in  it!  " 

He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and  lo! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 
And    he   fried,   "  How  happy  we 

shall  he!" 
But   the    woman  answered,  "  We 


When  a  week  was  past,  the  woman 

sighed 
For  a  castle  grand.     "Now  go," 

she  cried, 
"And   tell   the   flounder    that  he 

must  give 
Your  wife   a    palaee   wherein   to 

live." 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  greatly 

loth, 
But  he  feared   the  woman   when 

she  was  wroth ; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And    softly    thus    the    fisherman 

eried: 

"  0  good  flounder  in  the  sen, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me; 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants   t]ueer    things   I   fear   to 

name !  " 
Whereat   the  flounder,  swimming 

near, 
Said,  ''  Why  again  am  I  summoned 

here  V  " 

And  the  trembling  fisherman  an 
swered  thus: 
"Mv   dame   is   always   making  a 

fuss ; 
She   deems    our  mansion    poorly 

planned ; 


She    wants    a   palace    great    and 

grand !  " 
"Go  home,"  said  the  fish,  "this 

very  minute; 
The  palace  is  there;  you  '11  find 

her  in  it!  " 
He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and, 

lo! 

The  fisherman  found  it  even  so, 
And   he   cried,  "  How  happv   we 

shall  be!" 
But  the  woman   answered,  "We 

shall  see!  " 

When  a  day  was  past,  with  grow 
ing  pride, 

For  regal  power  the  woman  sighed; 
And  she  bade   the  fisherman  tell 

the  fish 
To  reign  as  a   king  was  now  her 

wish. 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  sadly 

loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she 

was  wroth; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And    softly    thus    the    fisherman 

cried: 

"  0  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me; 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants   queer  things   I  fear   to 

name." 
Whereat  the  flounder,  swimming 

near, 
Said,  "  Why  again  am  I  summoned 

here  V  " 

And  the  trembling  fisherman  an 
swered  thus: 
"My   dame    is  always  making  a 

fuss; 
She   ha*  got   a  palace   great  and 

grand. 

And  now  she  asks  for  royal  com 
mand  !  " 
"  Go  home !  "  said  the  fish,  "  at  the 

palace  gate 
You  '11  find   her  a   king  in  royal 

state ! " 


180 


HOW   THE  RAVEN  BECAME  BLACK. 


He  hied  him  home  in  haste,  and,  lo ! 
The  fisherman  found  it  even  so. 
"Good  faith,"  said  he,    "'tis   a 

charming  thing 

To  be,  like  you,  a  sovereign  king. 
With   a  golden  crown  upon  your 

brow. 
I'm    sure    you'll    be    contented 

now ! " 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  the  woman  said, 
"  A  triple  crown  would  grace  my 

head ; 
And    I     am     worthy,   I    humbly 

hope. 
Go  tell  the  flounder  to  make  me 

pope!  " 
"A  pope?  my  dear,  it  cannot  be 

done ! 
The  Church,  you  know,  allows  but 

one." 
"Nay,    none    of   your    nonsense, 

man,"  said  she, 
"A  pope,  a  pope  I  am  bound  to 

be! 
The  Prince   will  find   it  an  easy 

thing 
To  make  a   pope  as  to  make  a 

king!" 
To  mind  the  dame  he  was  sorely 

loth, 
But  he  feared  the  woman  when  she 

was  wroth ; 

So  he  went  again  to  the  ocean-side, 
And   thus    the   fisherman   faintly 

cried : 

"  0  good  flounder  in  the  sea, 
Hither  quickly  come  to  me, 
For  Pauline,  my  loving  dame, 
Wants    queer  things   I   fear  to 

name!  " 
Whereat   the  flounder,  swimming 

near, 
Said,  "  Why  again  am  I  summoned 

here?  " 
"Alack,   alack!"    the  fisherman 

said, 

"  Whatever    has  turned  the   wo 
man's  head, 


She  is  ill-content  with  royal  scope, 
And   now,  good  lack !   she  would 

fain  be  pope !  " 
"  Go  home!  "  the  flounder  gruffly 

cried, 

"  And  see  the  end  of  foolish  pride; 
You  '11  find  her  in  her  hovel  again, 
And  there,  till  death,  shall  she  re 
main!  " 


HOW  THE  RAVEN  BECAME 
BLACK. 

THERE  's  a  clever  classic  story, 
Such  as  poets  used  to  write, 

(You  may  find  the  tale  in  Ovid,) 
That  the  Raven  once  was  white. 

White  as  yonder  swan  a-sailing 
At  this  moment  in  the  moat, 

Till  the  bird,  for  misbehavior, 
Lost,  one  day,  his  snowy  coat. 

"  Raven-white  "  was  once  the  say 
ing. 

Till  an  accident,  alack  ! 
Spoiled  its  meaning,  and  thereafter 
It    was    changed    to    "Raven- 
black." 

Shall  I  tell  you  how  it  happened 
That  the   change  was   brought 
about  V 

List  the  story  of  Coronis, 

And  you  Ml  find  the  secret  out. 

Young  Coronis,  fairest  maiden 
Of  Thessalia's  girlish  train, 

Whom  Apollo  loved  and«courted, 
Loved  and  courted  not  in  vain, 

Flirted  with  another  lover 
(So  at  least  the  story  goes) 

And  was  wont  to  meet  him  slyly, 
Underneath  the  blushing  rose. 


DEATH  AND    CUPID. 


181 


Whereupon  the  bird  of  Phoebus, 
Who  their  meetings  chanced  to 
view, 

Went  in  haste  unto  his  master, 
Went  and  told  him  all  he  knew; 


Told  him  how  his  dear  Coronis, 
False  and  faithless  as  could  be, 

Plainly  loved  another  fellow,  — 
If  he  doubted,  come  and  see! 

Whereupon  Apollo,  angry 
Thus  to  find  himself  betrayed, 

With  his  silver  bow-and-arrow 
Went  and    shot    the    wretched 
maid! 

Now  when  he  perceived  her  dying, 
He  was  stricken  to  the  heart, 

And  to  stop  her  mortal  bleeding, 
Tried  his  famous  healing  art. 

But  in  vain ;  the  god  of  Physic 
Had  no  antidote;  alack!* 

He  who  took  her  off  so  deftly 
Could  n't     bring    the     maiden 
back. 

Angry  with  himself,  Apollo, 
Yet  more  angry  with  his  bird, 

For  a  moment  stood  in  silence, 
Impotent  to  speak  a  word. 

Then  he  turned  upon  the  Raven, 
Wanton  babbler!  see  thy  fate! 

Messenger  of  mine  no  longer, 
Go  to  Hades  with  thy  prate ! 


"  Weary  Pluto  with  thy  tattle ! 

Hither,  monster,  come  not  back; 
And,  to  match  thy  disposition, 

Henceforth  be  thy  plumage 
black!" 


MORAL. 

When   you  're    tempted  to   make 
mischief, 

It  is  wisest  to  refuse; 
People  are  not  apt  to  fancy 

Bearers  of  unwelcome  news. 


SECOND   MORAL. 

Something  of  the  pitch  you  handle 
On  your  fingers  will  remain ; 

As  the  Haven's  tale  of  darkness 
Gave  the  bird  a  lasting  stain. 


DEATH  AND  CUPID. 


AN  ALLEGORY. 

AH!  who  but  oft  hath  marvelled 

why 

The  gods  who  rule  above 
Should  e'er  permit  the  young  to 

die, 
The  old  to  fall  in  love ! 

Ah!  why  should  hapless  human 
kind 

Be  punished  out  of  season? 
Pray  listen,  and   perhaps   you  '11 

find 
My  rhyme  may  give  the  reason. 

Death,  strolling  out  one  summer's 

day, 

Met  Cupid,  with  his  sparrows; 
And,  bantering  in  a  merry  way, 
Proposed  a  change  of  arrows. 

"  Agreed!  "  quoth  Cupid,  "  I  fore 
see 
The  queerest  game  of  errors; 


182 


LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 


For  you  the  King  of  Hearts  will  be, 
And  I  '11  be  King  of  Terrors." 

And  so  't  was  done.     Alas  the  day 
That  multiplied  their  arts ! 

Each  from  the  other  bore  away 
A  portion  of  his  darts, 

And  that  explains  the  reason  why, 

Despite  the  gods  above, 
The  young  are  often  doomed  to  die, 

The  old  to  fall  in  love ! 


LOVE  AND  LUCRE. 


AN  ALLEGORY. 

Love  and  Lucre  met  one  day, 
In  chill  November  weather, 

And  so,  to  while  the  time  awav, 
They  held  discourse  together. 

Love  at  first  was  rather  shy, 
As  thinking  there  was  danger 

In  venturing  so  very  nigh 

The  haughty-looking  stranger. 

But  Lucre  managed  to  employ 

Behavior  so  potential, 
That,  in  a  trice,  the  bashful  boy 

Grew  bold  and  confidential. 

"I  hear,"  quoth    Lucre,  bowing 

low, 

"  With  all  your  hearts  and  hon 
ey. 

You  sometimes  siiffer  —  is  it  so  V  — 
For  lack  of  ready  money." 

Love  owned  that  he  was  poor  in 

aught 
Except  in  golden  fancies, 


And    ne'er  as    yet   had  given  a 

thought 
To  mending  his  finances; 

"  Besides,  I  've  heard  "  —  so  Love 

went  on. 

The  other's  hint  improving  — 
"  That  gold,  however  sought  or 

won, 
Is  not  a  friend  to  loving." 

"An  arrant  lie!  —  as  you  shall 

see,  — 

Full  long  ago  invented 
By  knaves  who  know  not  you  nor 

me, 
To  tickle  the  demented." 

And  Lucre  waved  his  wand,  and 
lo! 

By  magical  expansion, 
Love  saw  his  little  hovel  grow 

Into  a  stately  mansion  ; 

And  where,  before,  he  used  to  sup 
Untended  in  his  cottage, 

And  grumble  o'er  the  earthen  cup 
That  held  his  meagre  pottage, — 

Now,   smoking  viands  crown  his 
board, 

And  many  a  flowing  chalice; 
His  larder  was  with  plenty  stored, 

And  beauty  filled  the  palace. 

And  Love,  though  rather  lean  at 

first, 

And  tinged  with  melancholy, 
On  generous  wines  and  puddings 

nursed, 
Grew  very  stout  and  jolly. 

Yet,  mindful  of  his  early  friend, 
He  never  turns  detractor, 


WISDOM  AND   CUNNING. 


183 


But  prays  that  blessings  may  at 
tend 
His  worthy  benefactor; 

And   when   his    friends    are    gay 

above 

Their  evening  whist  or  euchre, 
And  drink  a  brimming  health  to 

Love, 
He,  drinks  "  Success  to  Lucre !  " 


WISDOM  AND   CUNNING. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

As  Wisdom  one  evening  was  tak 
ing  a  stroll, 

Quite  out  of  her  usual  road, 
She  came  to  a  hut,  at  the  foot  of  a 

knoll, 
Where  Selfishness  had  his  abode. 

In    this    dismal    retreat,    which, 

within  and  without, 
Was    the    shabbiest    ever    was 

known, 
In  a  fashion  befitting  so  scurvy  a 

lout, 
The  miser  was  living  alone. 

She  knocked  at  the  door  with  a 

maidenly  rnp, 

To  inquire  concerning  the  way; 
For  in  strolling  about,  by  an  awk 
ward  mishap, 

Miss    Wisdom    had    wandered 
astray. 

The  occupant  growled,  for  the  inso 
lent  churl 

Suspected  some  beggarly  kin: 
But,  getting  a  peep  at  the  beuuti-  . 

ful  girl, 
He  civilly  bade  her,  "  Come  in ! " 


Alas  for  the  damsel !  was  ever  be 
fore 

A  maid  in  so  wretched  a  plight? 
For  Selfishness  cruelly  bolted  the 

door, 

And  forced  her  to  wed  him  put- 
right. 


That  a  couple  so  mated  soon  came 

to  be  foes, 

Of  course  it  is  easy  to  see ; 
For  natures  so  opposite,  every  one 

knows, 
Could  never  a  moment  agree. 


And  so  it  befell  that  the  lady  at 

last, 

By  pleading  deception  and  force, 
From  the  infamous  marriage  that 

bound  her  so  fast, 
Procured  an  eternal  divorce. 


But     ere    't  was    decreed,    it    is 

proper  to  say, 

A  serious  mischief  was  done; 
For  it  happened  one  morning, — 

bad  luck  to  the  day ! 
The  lady  gave  birth  to  a  son. 


An  ill-looking  urchin  as  ever  was 

born 
(As     Cunning    the     fellow     is 

known), 
Whom  even  his  mother  regarded 

with  scorn, 
And  never  was  willing  to  own. 


A  slight  look  of  Wisdom  he  bears 

in 'his  face, 

Procures  him  a  deal  of  respect 
With  people  too  little  discerning  to 

trace 
The  vices  which  others  detect. 


184 


THE  SULTAN  AND    THE    OWLS. 


For,  ever  his  motives  are  sordid 

and  vile, 

And  ever  his  methods  are  mean; 
And  thus,  in  despite  of  his  treach 
erous  smile, 
The  mind  of  the  father  is  seen. 


THE    SULTAN   AND    THE 
OWLS. 

AN  ARABIAN   TALE. 


THE    Snltan,    Mahmoud,    in    his 

early  reign, 
By  bootless  foreign  wars  reduced 

the  nation, 
Till  half  his  faithful  followers  were 

slain. 

And  all  the  land  was  filled  with 
desolation. 


The  Sultan's  Vizier,  saddened  at 

the  heart 
To  see  at  every  turn  some  new 

disaster, 
Essaved  in  vain,  by  counsel  and 

by  art, 

To  stay  the  folly  of  his  royal 
master. 


The  Vizier,  deeply  versed  in  legal 

lore, 
In  state  affairs  the  Sultan's  chief 

reliance, 
Had  found,  besides,  some  leisure 

to  explore 

In  learned  books  the  mysteries 
of  science. 


With  other  matters  of  the  graver 

sort, 
He  knew  to  judge  men's  fancies 

by  their  features  ; 
And  understood,  according  to  re 
port, 

The    hidden    language    of    the 
feathered  creatures. 


One  pleasant  evening,  on  an  aged 

tree, 
The  while  within   a  wood   the 

twain  were  walking, 
The  Sultan  and  the  Vizier  chanced 

to  see 

A  pair  of  solemn  owls  engaged 
in  talking. 

VI. 

The    Sultan   asked:    "What  is  it 

that  they  say  V  " 
And  fain  would  know  what  the 

debate  portended ; 
The  Vizier  answered:    "  Sire,  ex 
cuse  me,  pray, 

I  fear  your  Highness  would  be 
much  offended." 


"Nay,"  said  the  Sultan,   "what 
soe'er  it  be 
These  heralds  of  Minerva  may 

be  saving, 

Repeat  it,  Vizier,  faithfully  to  me; 
There 's   1:0  offence,   except   in 
not  obeying." 


'•  Well,"   said    the  other.    "  these 

sagacious  fowls 

Have  met,  't  would  seem,  at  the 
appointed  hour, 


THE  PIN  AND    THE  NEEDLE. 


185 


To  fix  their   children's  wedding; 

and  the  owls 

Are  at  this  moment  talking  of 
the  dower. 

IX. 

''  The    father    of    the    daughter, 

speaking  free, 

Says:     'What  are  your  condi 
tions  ?  please  to  state  'em  ! ' 
'  Well,    twenty    ruined    villages,' 

quoth  lie 

(The  father  of  the  son);    'and 
that 's  my  ultimatum  !  ' 


"  '  Done!  '    says  the  other,   'only 

understand 
I  'd  say  two  hundred  quite  as 

soon  as  twenty ; 
Thanks  to  good  Mahmoud !   while 

he  rules  the  land 
We  shall  have  ruined  villages  in 
plenty! '  " 


'T  is  said  the  Sultan,  stricken  with 

remorse, 
Restored   the   land   reduced  by 

war  and  pillage, 
And  ruled  so  wisely  in  his  future 

course 

That  not  an  owl  could   find  a 
ruined  village. 


THE  PIN  AND  THE  NEEDLE. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 
I. 

A  PIN  and  Needle  in  a  basket  lay, 
Exempt  from  household  labors ; 


And  so  they  fell  a-quarrelling  one 

day, 
Like  other  idle  neighbors. 


"Pray,    what's    the    use,"    thb 

saucv  Pin  exclaimed, 

"  Of  sued  as  you,  you  noddy? 

Before   fine   lad'ies    you   must  be 

ashamed 
To  show  your  headless  body!  " 


"  Who  cares  about   your   brazen 

little  head? 
1  hold  it  in  derision ; 
'T  is  good  for  naught,"  the  Needle 

sharply  said, 
"  Without  an  eye  for  vision!  " 


"  Tut!  "   said  the  other,  piqued  at 

this  reply, 

"  What  profit  do  you  find  it, 
When  any  thread,  unless  you  mind 

your  eye, 
Can  in  a  moment  blind  it?  " 


"If,"  said  the  Needle,  "  what  you 
say  were  true, 

I  '11  leaVe  it  to  the  Thimble, 
If  I  am  not  as  bright  again  as  you, 

And  twenty  times  as  nimble." 


"Grant,"    said    the    Pin,    "you 

speak  the  simple  truth, 
Beyond  the  slightest  cavil, 
You'll  die  so  much  the  sooner,  -- 

in  your  youth, 
Worn  out  with  toil  and  travel." 


186 


BEN- AM  MI  AND    THE  FAIRIES. 


"Fie!  "  said  the  Needle,  "to  my 

Fate  I  trust; 
I  scorn  to  be  a  laggard, 
And  live  and  die,  like  you,  con 
sumed  with  rust. 
Misshapen,  old,  and  haggard!  " 


Unhappy  boaster!  for  it  came  to 

pass 

The  Needle  scarce  had  spoken, 
When  she  was  taken  by  an  awk 
ward  lass, 
And  in  the  eye  was  broken ! 


Whereat  the  Pin  (which  meets  the 

damsel's  view) 
Around  the  neck  is  threaded, 
And  after  many  struggles  to  get 

through, 
Is  suddenly  beheaded ! 


"Well,  here  we  are!  "   the  Needle 

humbly  said; 

No  more  a  haughty  scorner 
Of  the  poor  Pin  who  shared  her 

lowly  bed,  — 
A  dust-heap  in  the  corner. 


"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  thinking  of 

the  past, 

"  T  wish  in  better  season 
We  might  have  learned  the  lesson 

which  at  last 
Has  brought  us  both  to  reason !  " 


"Friend,"  said  the  Needle,    "we 

are  much  like  men,  — 
Scornful  in  sunny  weather; 


And  only  mindful  they  are  broth 
ers  when 
Thev  're  in  the  dirt  together!  " 


BEN-AMMI  AND  THE  FAIR 
IES. 

A    RABBINICAL  TALE. 

ONCE  on  a  time  a  stranger  came 
At  midnight  to  a  wealthy  man,  — 

Rabbi  Ben-ammi  was  his  name,  — 
And  thus  his  salutation  ran : 

"  Rabbi !  I  have  a  child  at  home 
Who  on  the  morrow's  early  light 

Is  eight  days  old ;  and  thou  must 

come 
And  celebrate  the  sacred  rite." 

Now  this  Ben-ammi,  be  it  known, 
Though  few  indeed  were  rich  as 

he, 
With   growing  wealth,   alas!  had 

grown 
A  miser  to  the  last  degree. 

And  yet  he  held,  it  should  be  told, 
His  office  in  suoh  pure  regard, 

With  all  his  sordid  lu«t  of  gold, 
He  served  the  poor  without  re 
ward. 

So  at  the  word  Ben-ammi  rose, 
And  when  the  sacred  Law  was 
read, 

Forth  in  the  night  the  Rabbi  goes, 
To  follow  where  the  stranger  led. 

The  night  was  dark,  and,  sooth  to 

say, 

The  road  they  trod  was  rough 
indeed ; 


BEN-AM  MI  AND    THE   FAIRIES. 


187 


Yet  on  and  on  they  took  their  way, 
Where'er  the  stranger  chose  to 
lead. 

At  last  they  reached,  towards  the 

dawn, 

A  rock  so  huge,  within  a  wood, 
A  hundred  steeds  could  not  have 

drawn 

The  mighty  stone  from  where  it 
stood. 

Now   mark   the   wonder  that  oc 
curred  : 
The  stranger  touched  it  with  his 

hand, 

Spoke  to  himself  some  mystic  word, 
And  straight  it  moved  from  off 
the  land ! 

And    now    the    wondering    Rabbi 

found 

The  earth  was  open  for  a  space, 
With   steps    that  led   beneath  the 

ground, 
As  if  to  some  mysterious  place. 

Descending    these    with    prudent 

care, 

And  going  far  and  farther  down, 
They  reached   an  open    country, 

where 

They  found,  at  length,  a  peopled 
town. 


Among  the  houses,  large  and  small, 
There  stood   a  palace  vast  and 
grand. 

And  here,  within  a  spacious  hall. 
Were  fairv-folks  on  everv  hand. 


Now  going  where  the  woman  lay 
Whose  child  the  sacred  rite  "re 
quired, 


The  stranger  bade  Ben-ammi  stay, 
And,  bowing,  silently  retired. 

"Rabbi,    pray  listen!"   said   the 

dame; 
"These  people  here  whom  thou 

hast  seen 
Thou     knowest    not    except    by 

name.  — 
The  fairy  race  of  Mazakeen. 

"  They  are  not  human  like  our 
selves 
(For    I,    indeed,    was    once    of 

earth ), 

But  queer,  uncouth,  uncanny  elves, 
Who  find  in  mischief  all  their 
mirth. 


"  And  yet  they  have  religions  too; 

All  kinds  of  creeds,   like  folk* 

above; 
And  he  who  rules  them  is  a  Jew,  — 

My  husband  whom  1  dearly  love. 

"  And  hence  it  was  he  made  so  bold 

To  bring  thee  hither  in  the  night, 

That  for  our  babe,  now  eight  days 

old, 

Thou   mayst   perform  the  holy 
rite. 


"  Tie  stole  me  from  the  earth  away ; 

Of  this  I  do  not  now  complain : 
But  listen  well  to  what  I  say, 

If  thou  wouldste'er  return  again. 


"Beware!  taste  neither  food  nor 

drink 

Whilst  thou  art  here,  on  any  plea, 
Or  in  a  moment  thou  wilt  sink 
Thy  manly  form  to  —  what  you 
see!  " 


188 


THE  DISCONTENTED    WATER-CARRIER. 


The  king  returning  with  his  suite, 
The  holy  rite  was  duly  done, 

And  all  sat  down  to  drink  and  eat 
In  merry  glee,  — save  only  one. 

Ben-ammi  (fearing  the  abuse 
The  dame  had  borne)  did  not 

partake 

Of  bread  or  wine,  but  made  excuse 
Of   three    days'    fast    for    con 
science'  sake. 

Whereat  the  king  was  moved  to 

say, 
"How  then  shall  I  reward  thy 

task?" 

"  Let  me  return  to  earth  this  day," 
Ben-ammi  said;  "'tis  all  I  ask." 

"Nay!"   answered  he;    and  led 

him  forth 
'Mid  heaps  of  gems  and  golden 

ore. 

"  I  would  return  this  day  to  earth,' ' 
Ben-ammi    said;    "'I    ask    no 
more!  " 

Entering  another  room,  he  sees 
(And  marvels   much,    we  may 
suppose) 

Along  the  walls,  a  thousand  keys 
In  bunches,  hung  in  rusty  rows. 

While  gazing  at  each  brazen  line, 
Ben-ammi  cries,  with  startled 

tone: 
"  This  bunch  so  much  resembles 

mine 

That  I  should  take  them  for  my 
own! " 

"  Thou  sayest  well,"  the  king  re 
plied  ; 

"  They  are  thine  own;  't  is  here 
I  hold 


The  keys  of  men  who  basely  hide, 
And  do  not  use,  their  gathered 
gold. 


"  Here,  take  the    keys !    Hence 
forth  thy  heart 

Will  melt  in  pity  for  the  poor; 
And  all  thou  givest  will  impart 

A  double  blessing  on  thy  store. 


"Now,  wouldst  thou  go,  first  shut 

thine  eyes," 
Then   waves  his  hand  towards 

the  dome ; 

Up  and  away  Ben-ammi  flies. 
And   quickly  finds    himself   st 
home! 


And  from  that  day  Ben-ammi  knew 
The  use  of  wealth,  and  under 
stood 
(While  more  and  more  his  riches 

grew) 
The  blessed  art  of  doing  good ! 


THE  DISCONTENTED  WATER- 
CARRIER. 

A   TURKISH   TALE. 


"THERE  goes  the  Vizier  and  his 

gaudy  train ! 
While  I,  poor  Hassan,  indigent 

and  old, 
Must  carry  water;    well,  I  can't 

explain 

Why  one   wears  rags,    another 
cloth  of  gold. 


THE  DISCONTENTED    WATER  CARRIER. 


189 


"  The  single  diamond  that  bedecks 

his  sword 
Would  set  me  up  a  gentleman 

for  life ; 
And  now,  God  bless  me !  I  cannot 

afford 

A  pair  of  scarlet  trousers  for  my 
wife! 


'•  With  half  the  money  that  his 

servants  waste 
Each  day  in  knick-knacks,  it  is 

very  clear 
My  family  might  live  like  kings, 

and  taste 

Roast  kid  for  dinner  fifty  times 
year. 

IV. 

"It  may  be  just;    I  don't  affirm 

't  is  not; 
Allah  is  Allah !  and  knows  what 

is  best; 
But  if,  for  mine.  I  had  the  Vizier's 

lot, 

'T  would  please  me  vastly  better, 
I  protest!  " 


So  murmured  Hassan,  vext  within 

himself 
To  see  the  Vizier  riding  proudly 

by; 

When  suddenly  a  little  fairy  elf 
Appeared    before    him    with  a 
twinkling  eye. 


"Peace!"  said  the  Fairy;    "ere 

thy  speech  begun 
I  knew    to    what    thy   present 
thoughts  incline; 


Choose  any  gift  thou  wilt  (but  only 

one), 

And,  by  my  kingdom,   it  shall 
soon  be  thine!" 


Poor  Hassan,   filled  with  joy,   at 

once  began: 
"I   fain   would    have  — "   but 

paused  before  the  word 
Escaped   his  mouth;   or,  sooth  to 

say,  the  man 

Had  named  the    jewel  on  the 
Vizier's  sword! 


VIII. 

What  next  he  thought  to  choose 

was  all  the  gold 
That  filled  the  Califs    coffers; 

then  he  thought 
Of    Bagdad's    riches;     then    the 

wealth  untold 

Of  all  the  earth,  —  so  fast  his 
fancy  wrought ! 


Such  various  wishes  thronged  his 

teeming  brain, 
He    pondered    long,    until    the 

Fairy's  voice 
Showed  some  impatience,  and  the 

man  was  fain 

From  very  fear  to  hasten  in  his 
choice. 


But  halting  still  when  at  the  point 

to  tell 
His  final  wish,  the  Fairy  kindly 

told 
(To  aid  his  choosing)  of  a  "hidden 

well 

Filled  to  the  brim  with  jewels 
and  with  gold. 


190 


THE  DISCONTENTED    WATER-CARRIER. 


And  then  she  led  him  to  a  secret 

grot, 
Where,  underneath  a  stone,  the 

treasure  lies, 
Removed  the  slab  that  sealed  the 

sacred  spot, 

And   showed  the  riches  to  his 
wondering  eyes. 


"  Take  what  you  will  of  this  ex- 

haustless  store; 
But,  mark  you,  if  you  pause  to 

dine  or  sup, 
Your  work  is  finished;    you  can 

have  no  more; 

The  stone  will  move  and  close 
the  coffer  up." 

XIII. 

Charmed  with  the  sight  that  met 

his  dazzled  gaze, 
He  stood  enrapt ;  then  turned  to 

thank  the  fay 
For  so  much  bounty;  but,  to  his 

amaze, 

The  nimble  sprite  unseen  had 
fled  awav. 


Whate'er  three  ample  water-skins 

could  hold 

Was  soon  his  own ;  but  this  con 
tents  him  not; 
Unnumbered  coins  of  silver  and  of 

gold 

Invite  his  spade,  and  chain  him 
to  the  spot. 


"  Another  hour  of   digging    will 

suffice," 

Quoth  Hassan,  delving  with  in 
creasing  greed. 


"  Well,  by  the  Prophet,   here  is 

something  nice! 

Rubies   and   diamonds!    this  is 
wealth  indeed!  " 


XVI. 

And  so  he  dug  (remembering  the 

hint 
The  Fairy  gave  him)  till  his  busy 

spade 
Had  piled  a  mound  so  vast,  the 

Calif's  mint 

Could  scarce  have  matched  the 
glittering  heap  he  made. 


And  yet  he  toils,  as  greedy  as  be 
fore. 
"A  little  more!  "  said  Hassan, 

"  ere  the  sun 
Sinks    in    the    we*t,  —  some  fifty 

shovels  more, 

And  this  day's  work,   a  brave 
one!  will  be  done!  " 


XVIII. 

Poor  Hassan  !  heedless  of  the  fading 

day, 
He  wrought  at  night  a«  he  had 

wrought  at  noon ; 
Weary  and  faint,  but  impotent  to 

'  stay 

His  eager  hand  beneath  the  ri<- 
ing  moon. 


"  A  little  more!  "  the  miser  said, 

"  and  I 
Will  make  an  end."     He  raised 

his  weary  hand 
To  delve  again;  then  dropt  it  with 

a  sigh,  — 

So  weak  and  worn  that  he  could 
hardly  stand. 


THE  MILLER  AND  HIS  ADVISERS. 


191 


Fatal  Ambition!  from  his  golden 

bed 
He  trios   in   vain   to  reach  the 

giddy  height ; 
The  shining  heap  comes  tumbling 

on  his  head. 

And  shuts  poor  Hassan  in  eternal 
night ! 


THE   MILLER   AND    HIS    AD 
VISERS. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 

OF  nil  the  fables  quaint  and  old 
ByvEsop  or  by  Phcedrus  told, 
For  wit  or  wisdom  none  surpass 
That  of  The  Miller  and  his  Ass; 
Which  shrewd  Malherbe  of  modern 

France 

Invented,  — meaning  to  advance 
This  wholesome  truth,  for  old  and 

young, 
(Here    rendered    in    our    English 

tongue), 
That    one  —  however    cheap    the 

price  — 
May    take    too    much   of  "good 

advice." 
A  miller,   who  had   thrived   so 

well 

That,  he  had  got  an  ass  to  sell, 
Set  forth,  one  morning,  for  the  fair, 
Attended  bv  his  youthful  heir, 
While,   trudging  on    with    solemn 

mien, 

The  precious  donkey  walked  be 
tween. 
At  length  they  meet  upon  the 

way 

Some  fellows,  less  polite  than  gay, 
Who  laugh,  as  if  they  'd  split  their 

sides, 


That  neither  son  nor  father  rides. 

The  hint  suffices;  in  a  crack 
The   boy  bestrides    the   donkey's 

back, 
When,  presently,  three  merchants 

came 

Along  the  road,  who  all  exclaim : 
"Get  off,   you   lout!    you   selfish 

clod, 

To  let  your  aged  father  plod 
On   foot,    while   you   the   ass   be 
stride; 
Dismount,    and    let    vour    father 

ride!  " 

The  Miller  does  as  they  desire,    » 
Down  conies  the  son,  up  gets  the 

sire, 

And  so  they  go  until  they  meet 
A  group  of  damsels  in  the  street, 
Who,  all    in  chorus,   scream  and 

shout  : 
"  For  shame !  that  one  so  big  and 

stout 

Should  ride  at  ease  without  a  care 
About    his     young     and    tender 

heir." 
"Gad!"   says  the  Miller,  "their 

advice 
Seems  mainly  wise";    and  in  a 

trice 
(Though  Jack  esteems   it  hardly 

kind) 
He  bids  the  lad  get  up  behind. 

Alas  !  the  world  is  hard  to  suit ; 
The  Miller  now  is  called  a  brute 
By  all  he  meets  upon  the  road 
Who   mark  the    donkey's   double 

load. 

In  sooth,  the  Miller  and  his  heir 
Were  quite  as  much  as  he  could 

bear, 

And  so,  at  length,  the  careful  twain 
Took  up  the  weary  ass  amain. 
And,  to  the  mirth  of  all  beholders. 
Bore    off   the    beast    upon    their 

shoulders. 
Alas!     for  all  the  weight  they 

bore, 


192 


MURILLO  AND  HIS  SLAVE. 


They  still  were  censured,  as  be 
fore; 

The  captious  rabble  followed  after 
With  sneers,  and  jests,  and  shouts 

of  laughter. 
"  The    biggest    ass,"  one    fellow 

said, 

"  Is  clearl}'  not  the  quadruped!  " 
Another  mockingly  advised 
To  have  a  pet  so  highly  prized 
Kept  in  the  parlor  from  the  cold, 
Or,  for  a  breastpin,  set  in  gold. 
Stunned    with    the    clamor     of 

their  mirth, 

He  drops  the  donkey  to  the  earth. 
"  Zooks !     they    are    right,"     he 

sighs.     "Alas! 

"T  is  clear  enough  I  am  an  ass, 
As  stupid  as  this  shaggy  brute, 
Essaying  thus  all  minds  to  suit 
Egad !  despite  each  meddling  elf, 
I  '11  try  henceforth  to  please  my 
self.  " 


MURILLO  AND   HIS   SLAVE. 

A  LEGEND   OF   SPAIN. 

"WHOSE  work  is  this?"  Murillo 

said. 
The   while    he    bent   his   eager 

gaze 

l'[>on  a  sketch  (a  Virgin's  head) 
That    filled    the    painter    with 
amaze. 

Of  all  his  pupils,  — not  a  few,  — 
Marvelling,   't  would    seem,  no 

less  than  he; 
Each   answered   that  he    nothing 

knew 

As  touching  whose  the  sketch 
might  be. 


This  much  appeared,  and  nothing 

more : 
The  piece  was   painted   in   the 

night. 
"And    yet,    by   Jove!"     Murillo 

swore, 

"  He  has  no  cause  to  fear  the 
light. 


"  'T  is  something  crude,  and  lacks, 

I  own, 

That  finer  finish  time  will  teach; 
But  genius  here  is  plainly  shown, 
And   art    beyond    the  common 
reach. 


"  Sebastian!  "      (turning    to    his 

slave, ) 
"  \Vho   keeps   this    room   when 

I  'm  in  bed  V  " 
" 'T  is   I.    Senor."     "Now,  mark 

you,  knave ! 

Keep  better  watch,"    the  mas 
ter  said ; 


'•For  if  this  painter  comes  again, 
And  you,  while  dozing,  let  him 

slip, 

Excuses  will  be  all  in  vain, — 
Remember,  you  shall   feel   the 
whip!  " 


Now    while    Sebastian    slept,    he 

dreamed 
That     to    his     dazzled     vision 

came 
The      BlesseVl       Lady  —  so      she 

seemed  — 

And    crowned    him     with    the 
wreath  of  Fame. 


Whereat  the  startled  slave  awoke, 
And    at    his     picture    wrought 
away 


JIASSAN  AND    THE  ANGEL. 


193 


So   rapt    that    ere   the   spell   was 

broke, 
The  dark  was  fading  into  day. 

"  My  Beautiful !  "  the  artist  cried ; 
"  Thank  God,  I  have  not  lived 

in  vain !  " 

Hark  !  'T  is  Murillo  at  his  side ; 
The    man    has    grown    a  slave 
again. 

"Who  is  vour   master?  —  answer 

me !  " 

"  'T  is  you,"  replied  the  falter 
ing  lad. 
"  Nay,  't  is  not  that,  I  mean,"  said 

he; 

"  Tell  me,  what  teacher  have 
you  had?  " 

"  Yourself,     Senor.      When     you 

have  taught 
These    gentlemen,    I    too    have 

heard 

The  daily  lesson,  and  have  sought 
To  treasure  every  golden  word." 

"What  say  you,  boys?"  Murillo 

cried, 

Smiling  in  sign  of  fond  regard, 
"  Is   this   a  case  —  pray  you   de 
cide  — 

For     punishment,    or     for     re 
ward?  " 

"Reward,   Senor!"    they  all  ex 
claimed, 
And  each  proposed  some  costly 

toy ; 

But  still,  whatever  gift  was  named, 
Sebastian  showed  no  gleam  of 

joy- 
Whereat  one   said:     "He's   kind 

to-day ; 

Ask  him  your  Freedom."    With 
a  groan 


The  boy  fell  on  his  knees:  "Nay, 

nay ! 

My  father's  freedom, — not  my 
own!  " 

"Take  both!"  the  painter  cried. 

"  Henceforth 
A  slave  no  more,  —  be  thou  my 

son. 
Thy  Art  had   failed,  with   all  its 

worth, 
Of  what   thy  Heart  this  day  has 

won!  " 

L'ENVOI 

The  traveller,  loitering  in  Seville, 
And   gazing   at    each    pictured 

saint, 

May  see  Murillo's  gcn;us  still, 
And    learn    how    well    his    son 
could  paint. 


HASSAN  AND  THE  ANGEL. 

THE  Calif  Hassan,  —  so  the  tale  is 

told, — 

In  honors  opulent  and  rich  in  gold, 
One   New    Year's    Day  sat    in  a 

palm-tree's  shade, 
And,  on  a  stone  that  lay  beside 

him,  made 
An   inventory,  —  naming  one  by 

one 
His  benefactions;  all  that  he  had 

done 
Throughout   the   year;    and   thus 

the  items  ran: 
"  Five  bags  of  gold  for  mosques  in 

Ispahan ; 
For    caravans    to    Mecca,    seven 

more ; 

For  amulets  to  pious  people,  four; 
Three  for  the  Ramazan ;  and  two 

to  pay 
The  holy  dervishes,  who  thrice  a 

day 


194 


HASSAN  AND    THE  ANGEL. 


In  prayer  besought  the  safety  of 

my  soul ; 
Item,  one  loaf  of  bread,  a  weekly 

dole 
To  a  poor  widow  with  a  sickly 

child." 
The  Calif  read  the  reckoning  o'er, 

and  smiled 
With  conscious    pleasure    at  the 

vast  amount, 
When,  lo !  a  hand  sweeps  over  the 

account. 

With  sudden  anger,  Hassan  looked 

around, 
And  saw  an  angel  standing  on  the 

ground, 


With  wings  of  gold,  and  robe  of 

purest  white. 

"  I    am    God's    messenger,    em 
ployed  to  write 
Within  this  book  the  pious  deeds 

of  men; 
I    have    revised    thy    reckoning: 

look  again." 
So  to  the  man  the  angel  spaka 

aloud, 
Then  slowly  vanished  in  a  rosy 

cloud. 
•The  Calif,  looking,  saw  upon  the 

stone 
The    final    item    standing    there 

alone. 


FABLES    AND    LEGENDS 
OF   MANY    COUXTKIES, 


RENDERED  IN  RHYME 


TO 

MY    THREE    DAUGHTERS 

BTfjfe  1/ittle  Book 

IS 

AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED. 


FABLES  AND  LEGENDS 
OF    MANY   COUNTRIES. 


'  LOVE  AND  JOY. 

AX    ALLEGORY. 

LONG,  long  ago,  ere  Sin  had  come 
To  iniike  the  earth  forlorn, 

Somewhere,    within     an     Eastern 

home, 
Two  pretty  babes  were  born. 

The  younger  was  a  maiden  fair; 
The  elder  was  a  boy ; 

And,  for  their  name?,   the  infant 

pail- 
Were  christened  Love  and  Joy 

And  as  they  grew   in   years   and 
strength, 

Together  they  would  rove 
As  merry  mates,  until  at  length 

Joy  seemed  the  twin  of  Love  I 

And  so,  nt  length,  it  came  to  pass 
That  all  the  neighbors  said, 

Some  happy  day  the  lad  and  lass 
Were  certain  to  be  wed. 

In  sooth,  such  happy  mates  they 

seemed, 

And  so  attached  at  heart,  — 
The  pretty  pair,  —  who  would  have 

deemed 
That  they  would  ever  part? 

But  so  it  fell ;  alas,  the  wrong .' 
And  woe  betide  the  day 


That  Sin,  the  monster!  came  along 
And  frightened  Joy  away ! 

And  so  poor  Love,  when  Joy  had 
flown, 

Since  he  could  not  abide 
To  live  tinwedded  and  alone, 

Took  Sorrow  for  his  bride; 

As  sad  a  bride  as  e'er  was  seen 
To  grace  a  marriage-bed ; 

With   scowling   brow  and   murky 

mien, 
And  cypiess  round  her  head. 

And  to  the  twain  a  child  was  born, 
That  bore  of  each  a  part,  — 

The  mother's  countenance  forlorn, 
The  father's  tender  heart. 

"  Pity  "  they  called  her, — gentle 
child;' 

And  from  her  infant  days 
Her  voice  was  ever  sweet  and  mild, 

And  winning  were  her  ways. 

And  once,  ere  she  had  learned  1o 
walk, 

While  in  her  crndle-nest, 
A  dove,  that  fled  the  cruel  hawk, 

Sought  safety  on  her  breast. 

The  robin-redbreast  came  to  seek 
A  home  where  Pity  dwelt; 

And  all  things  timorous  and  weak 
Her  kind  compassion  felt. 


200 


THE   TWO    CHURCH-BUILDERS. 


Ah,  sweet,  sad  face!   her  mixed 

descent 

Was  shown  in  her  attire, 
And    with    the    mother's  cypress 

blent 
The  myrtle  of  her  sire. 

And  ever  since  to  woman's  height 
The  maiden  grew,  she  roams 

Through   all   the  world,   an  angel 

bright, 
To  gladden  human  homes. 

Her  office  still  to  follow  where 
Her  mother's  feet  have  strayed, 

And  soothe  and  heal,  with  tender 

care. 
The  wounds  the  dame  has  made. 

But  both  are  mortal,  sages  write, 
And  so  they  both  must  die; 

Sorrow,  at  last,  will  cease  to  smite, 
And  Pity  cease  to  sigh. 

And  then  will  Joy  leturn,  tvey  say, 
From    Heaven,    where   she  had 
flown, 

And  Love,  forever  and  for  aye, 
Be  married  to  his  own. 


THE     TWO     CHURCH-BUILD 
ERS. 

AN   ITALIAN   LEGEND. 

A  FAMOUS    king  would    build  a 

church, 

A  temple  vast  and  grand ; 
And,  that  the  praise  might  be  his 

own, 
He  gave  a  strict  command 


That  none  should  add  the  smallest 

gift 
To  aid  the  work  he  planned. 

And  when  the  mighty  dome  was 

done, 

Within  the  noble  frame. 
Upon  a  tablet  broad  and  fair, 

In  letters  all  aflame 
With   burnished  gold,   the  people 

rend 
The  royal  builder's  name. 

Now  when   the   King,    elate  with 
pride, 

That  night  had  sought  hN  bed, 
He  dreamed  he  saw  an  angel  come, 

(A  halo  round  his  held,) 
Erase  the  royal  name,  and  write 

Another  in  its  stead. 

What  could  it  mean  V    Three  times 
that  night 

That  wondrous  vision  came; 
Three  times  he  saw  that  angel  hand 

Erase  the  royal  name, 
And  write  a  woman's  in  its  stead, 

In  letters  all  aflame. 

Whose  could  it  be  ?   He  gave  com 
mand 

To  all  about  his  throne 
To  seek  the  owner  of  the  name 

That  on  the  tablet  shone ; 
And  so  it  was  the  courtiers  found 

A  widow  poor  and  lone. 

The    King,    enraged    at  what  he 

heard, 

Cried,  "  Bring  the  culprit  here !  " 
And  to  the  woman  trembling  sore 

He  said,  "  'T  is  very  clear 
That  you  have  broken  my  com 
mand; 
Now  let  the  truth  appear!  " 


THE    WIND  AND   THE  ROSE. 


201 


'Your  Majesty,"  the  Widow  said, 
"  I  can't  deny  the  truth; 

I  love  the   Lord,  —  my  Lord   and 

yours,  — 
And  so,  in  simple  sooth, 

I  broke  your  Majesty's  command, 
(I  crave  your  royal  ruth  !) 

"  And  since  I  had  no  money,  Sire, 
Why,  I  could  only  pray 

That- God  would  bless  your  Maj 
esty  ; 
And  when  along  the  way 

The  horses  drew  the  stones,  I  gave 
To  one  a  wisp  of  hay !  " 

"Ah!  now  I   sec,"  the  King  ex 
claimed, 

"  Self-glory  was  my  aim  ; 
The  woman  gave  for  love  of  God, 

And  not  for  worldly  fame; 
'T  is  my  command  the  tablet  bear 

The  pious  widow's  name!  " 


THE  WIND  AND   THE  ROSE. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 
I. 

A.  LITTLE  red  Rose   bloomed  all 

alone 

In  a  hedsre  by  the  highway  side; 
And   the   Wind   came  by  with   a 

pitying  moan, 
And  thus  to  the  floweret  cried: 


"  You  are  choked  with  dust  from 

the  sandy  ledge; 
Now  see  what  a  friend  can  do! 


I  will  pierce  a  hole  in  the  tangled 

hedge 

And      let     the     breeze     come 
through." 

in. 

"  Nay,    let    me    be,    I    am    well 

enough !  " 

Said  the  Rose  in  deep  dismay; 
But  'vhe  Wind  is  always  rude  and 

rough, 
And  of  course  he  had  his  way. 


And  the  breeze  blew  soft  on  me 

little  red  Rose; 
Rut  now  she  was  sore  afraid, 
For   the   naughty  boys^    her    an 
cient  foes , 

Came    through   where   the  gap 
was  maue. 


"«,  soe,"  said  the  Wind,  when  he 

car.ie  again, 
And    looked   at    the    trembling 

flower, 
'•  You  are  out  of  place;  it  is  very 

plain 

You    are    meant  for    a    lady's 
bower." 

VI. 

"  Nay,  let  me  be !  "  said  the  shud 
dering  Rose; 

"No  sorrow  I  ever  had  known 
Till  ymi  came  here   to  break  my 

repose ; 
Now,  please  to  let  me  alone!  " 


But  the  will  of  the  Wind  is  strong 

as  death, 
And  little  he  recked  her  cries; 


202 


THE  BEACON-LIGHT. 


He  plucked  her  up  with  his  mighty 

breath, 
And  away  to  the  town  he  flies. 


0,  all  too  rough   was  the   windy 
ride, 

For  a  Rose  so  weak  and  small ; 
And  soon  her  leaves  on  every  side 

Began  to  scatter  and  fall. 


•'Now,  what   is   this?"    said  the 
wondering  Wind, 

As  the  Rose  in  fragments  fell ; 
''  This  paltry  stem  is  all  I  find,  — 

I  am  sure  I  meant  it  well!  " 


"It  means  just  this:  that  a  med 
dling  friend," 

Said  the  dying  stalk,  "  is  sure 
To  mar  the   matter  he  aimed  to 

mend, 

And  kill    where  he    meant   to 
cure! " 


THE  BEACON-LIGHT. 

A   GERMAN   LEGEND. 
I. 

'  Go  seaward,    son,    and   bear  a 

light!" 

Up  spoke  the  sailor's  wife; 
kThy    father    sails    this    stormy 

night 
In  peril  of  his  life! 


"  His   ship   that   sailed  to  foreign 
lands 

This  hour  may  heave  in  sight. 
0,  should  it  wreck  upon  the  sands ! 

Go,  son,  and  bear  a  light!  " 


He  lights  a  torch,  and  seaward  goes ; 

Naught  boots  the  deed,  I  doubt. 
The  rain  it  rains,  the  wind  it  blows ; 

And  soon  the  light  goes  out. 


The  boy  comes  back:  "  0  mother 
dear, 

Bid  me  not  go  again ; 
No  torch  can  live,  't  is  very  clear, 

Before  the  wind  and  rain!  " 


"  No  sailor's  blood   hast  thou,   I 

trow, 

To  fear  a  stormy  night; 
Let  rains   descend,    let    tempests 

blow, 
Go,  son,  and  bear  a  light!  " 


Once  more  he  lights  the  torch,  and 
goes 

Toward  the  foaming  main. 
The  rain  it  rains,  the  wind  it  blows; 

Out  goes  the  torch  again ! 


The  boy  comes  back:  "  0  mother 

dear, 

The  storm  puts  out  the  light; 
The  night  is  drear,  and   much  J 

fear 
The  woman  dressed  in  white .'  " 


Tilt:   BEACON-LIGHT. 


203 


VIII. 

"  No   sailor's   blood  hast   thou,  I 

trow, 

To  tremble  thus  before 
A  mermaid's  face.     Take  heart  of 

grace, 
And  seek  again  the  shore !  " 

IX. 

The  boy  comes  back:  " 0  mother 
-  dear, 

Go  thou  unto  the  strand; 
My  father's  voice  I  sure  did  hear 

In  tones  of  stern  command !  " 


And  now   the    mother  lights  the 

torch, 

And,  see!   the  kindling  rays 
Have  caught  the  thatch  !  from  roof 

to  porch 
The  hut  is  all  ablaze  ! 

XI. 

"What  hast  thou  done?  "  the  ur 
chin  cries; 

"0  piteous  sight  to  see! 
Cold   is   the    night;    0    wretched 

plight! 
Nor  house  nor  home  have  we!  " 


"  No  sailor's   blood  hast  thou,  I 
wis. 

When  torches  fail  to  burn, 
A  blazing  hovel  —  such  as  this  — 

May  serve  as  good  a  turn  !  " 


Jov  to  the  sailor  !  see  !  he  clears 
The  shoals  on  either  hand, 

Thanks  to  the  light!  and  now  he 

steers 
In  safety  to  the  land  ! 


KING  ERIC'S  TRIUMPH. 


FROM   THE   GERMAN    OF   SEIDL. 


AT  Upsala's  high  altar, 
The  tallest  in  the  land, 

And  bright  with  blazing  candles, 
See  royal  Eric  stand. 

And  thus  he  speaks  to  Heaven, 
With  lifted  voice  and  hand: 


"  Great  God!  in  Thy  protection 

We  ever  safely  dwell; 
Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 

Hath  wisely  done  and  well." 
And  hark !  the  lofty  anthem 

The  choir  and  organ  swell. 


Now  while  the  dome  is  sounding 
With  this  triumphant  strain, 

In  conies  a  panting  courier, 

"OKing!  the  Dane  I  the  Dane! 

SKALATER  and  his  soldiers 
Are  pouring  on  the  plain!  " 


But  as  on  ears  unheeding 
The  startling  message  fell; 

King  Eric  still  is  chanting, 
AV  hile  choir  and  organ  swell, 

"  Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 
Hath  wisely  done  and  well!  " 


In  bursts  another  courier, 
Hot  messenger  of  Fate,  — 

"  The  Dane !  the  Dane  approaches  I 
0  King,  no  longer  wait ! 


204 


THE  BRAHMIN'S  AIR- CASTLE. 


Fly !  seek  some  surer  refuge ; 
The  Dane  is  at  the  gate!" 


What  though  a  hundred  voices 

The  tale  of  terror  tell? 
King  Eric  still  is  chanting, 

While  choir  and  organ  swell, 
"  Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 

Hath  wisely  done  and  well!  " 


In  comes  another  courier, 
But  ere  his  voice  he  found 

To  tell  his  tale  of  horror, 
He  feels  a  mortal  wound ; 

Beneath  a  Danish  sabre, 
His  head  is  on  the  ground. 


•Then  rose  a  fearful  clamor, 
That  drowned  the  Danish  drums : 

"  With  seven  hundred  soldiers, 
The  fiend,  SKALATER,  comes ! 

Where  now  are  king  and  country, 
Our  altars  and  our  homes  ?" 


'T  was  then  the  pious  monarch 
(As  holy  books  declare) 

Took  tip  the  golden  crucifix, 
And' waved  it  in  the  air. 

And  called  upon  the  God  of  Hosts 
In  agonizing  prayer. 


And  from  the  seven  sacred  wounds 
(One  for  each  bleeding  gash 

That  in  his  death  the  Saviour  bore) 
Came  forth  a  blinding  flash ; 

In  splendor  full  a  hundred-fold, 
The  heathen  to  abash. 


Whereat  seven    hundred    Danish 
men 

In  humble  worship  fell; 
While  Eric  and  his  people  all 

The  solemn  tmtliem  swell, 
"  Who  makes  the  Lord  his  refuge 

Hath  wisely  done  and  well!  " 


THE    BRAHMIN'S      AIR-CAS 
TLE- 

A   HINDOO   FABLE. 

A   BRAHMIN,    haughty,   indolent, 

and  poor, 
Entered,  one  day,  a  potter's  open 

door, 

And,  lying  lazily  upon  the  ground 
Among  the  earthen-ware  that  stood 

around 

In  stately  pyramids,  at  length  be 
gan 
To  think  aloud ;  and  thus  his  fan^ 

cies  ran : 
"  With  these  small  coins  within  my 

pocket,  I 
Some   pieces  of  this  useful  ware 

will  buy, 
Which,  at  a  profit,  I  will  sell,  and 

then 
Will  purchase  more;  and,  turning 

this  again 
In  the  same  fashion,  I  will  buy  and 

sell 
Until  my  growing  trade  will  thrive 

so  well 
That  I  shall  soon  be  rich;  so  rich, 

indeed, 
That  I  can  buy  whatever  I  may 

need 
For  use  or  luxury.     And  first  of  all 


REASON  AND    VANITY. 


205 


f  '11  build   a  mansion,  very  grand 

and  tall; 
And  then,  of  course,  as  suits  a  man 

of  taste, 
I'll  have  four  wives,  all  beautiful 

and  chaste. 
But  one  in  beauty  will  excel  the 

rest, 
And  her,  't  is  certain,  I  shall  love 

the  best; 
Whereat   the  others  (I  foresee  it) 

-will 
Be  jealous,  and  behave  extremely 

ill; 
Whereat,  as  they  deserve,  I  shall 

be  quick 
To  beat  the  vixens  well  with  this 

good  stick." 

And  in  his  revery  the  fellow  struck 
Among  the   pot's   and  pans,  (woe 

worth  the  luck  !  ) 
With  so  much  force  they  fell,  and 

all  around 
His  foolish  head  the  pieces  strewed 

the  ground. 
So  fell  the  Brahmin's  castle  in  the 

air; 
And,    further   sflll,    to    make  the 

matter  square, 
And  mend  the  damage  done  that 

luckless  day, 
With  all  he  had,  the  potter  made 

him  pay. 

L'EXVOI. 

This  cbver  Hindoo  fable,  which 
(I  'in  told 

By  grave  sarans)  is  many  centu 
ries  old, 

Bears  its  own  moral,  plain  as  any 
print ; 

And  furnishes,  besides,  a  lively 
hint 

Whence  came  that  very  charming 
modern  tale, 

"  The  Country  Maiden  and  her 
Milking-Pail!  " 


REASON  AND  VANITY. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 

"APPEAL  to  Reason!"  writes  a 

sage 
Whose  book,  on  many  a  glowirg 

Page> 

Would  teach  the  reader  to  control 
The  workings  of  the  human  soul. 
The  plan,  no  doubt,  is  often  wise, 
But,  should  it  fail,  let  me  advise 
('T  is  safe  to  try  it!)  an  appeal 
The  hardest  heart  is  sure  to  feel; 
When  Reason  turns  away  her  ear, 
Who  knows  but  Vanity  may  hear? 
As  *Chloe  stood,  one  summer's 

day,  — 
Young,  giddy,  handsome,  vain,  and 

£ay,  — 

Before  her  mirror,  and  essayed 
Her  native  charms  by  art  to  aid, 
A  vagrant  bee  came  buzzinground, 
And  Ch'oe,  frightened  at  the  sound, 
Cried,  "  Marv,  help!     Go,  Lizzie, 

fetch  " 
A     broom     and     kill    the    little 

wretch !  " 
Too    late!    despite    the    bustling 

maids, 

The  wanton  imp  at  once  invades 
Poor    Chloe's    lip,  —  the    saucy 

thing! 

And  fixes  there  his  ugly  sting. 
The  culprit  caught,  the  maids  pre 
pare 

To  kill  the  monster  then  and  there ; 
When,  trembling  for  his  life,  the 

Bee 

Makes  this  extenuating  plea: 
"Forgive!   0   beauteous  queen, 

forgive 

My  sad  mistake;  for,  as  I  live. 
Your  mouth  (I  'm  sorry,  Goodness 

knows !) 

I  surely  took  it  for  a  rose !  " 
"  Poor  insect!  "  Chloe  sighed,  "I 

vow 


206 


HOW    11    CHANCED 


"'T  were  very  hard   to  kill  him 

now, 

No  harm  the  little  fellow  meant, 
And  then  he  seems  so  penitent; 
Besides,  the  pain  was  very  small, 
I  scarcely  feel  it  now  at  all !  " 


WHO   SHALL   SHUT   THE 
DOOR? 

FROM   THE    GERMAN    OF   GOETHE. 

TO-MOKKOW  is  St.  Martin's  da3r, 

And  Goody,  loving  elf, 
Has  baked  some  puddings  for  her 
man, 

And  put  them  on  the  shelf. 

Now  both  are  lying  snug  in  bed, 
And  while  the  west-winds  roar 

Old  Gaffer  unto  Goody  says. 
"  Go,  shut  that  slamming  door !  " 

"  I  wish  to  rest,"  the  dame  replies, 
"Till  morning's  light  appear*; 

For  aught  I  care,  that  crazy  door 
May  slam  a  hundred  years!  " 

With  this  the  loving  pair  agreed 
(Since  neither  of  them  stirred) 

That  he,  or  she,  should  bolt  the 

door 
Who  first  should  speak  a  word ! 

Two     vagabonds,     at     midnight, 
found 

The  door  was  off  the  latch, 
And  not  a  single  sight  or  sound 

Their  eyes  or  ears  could  catch. 

They  entered  in,  and  spoke  aloud, 
But  no  one  answered.     Why  V 


The    bargain     stopped    the    only 

mouths 
That  could  have  made  reply! 

The  puddings  soon  were  eaten  up, 
As  Goody  plainly  heard, 

And    cursed   the  robbers   in    her 

heart, 
But  uttered  not  a  word. 

And  soon  one  vagabond  exclaims, 

"  I  'd  like  a  sip  of  gin; 
This  cupboard   smells   extremely 
nice, 

I  '11  poke  about  within. 

"  A  flask  of  schnapps,  I  'm  very 
sure, 

Is  at  my  elbow  here; 
A  hearty  swig,  to  thirsty  souls, 

Is  mighty  pleasant  oheer!  " 

Up  sprang  old  Gaffer  in  a  trice  : 
"  Heini  what  is  that  you  say? 

The  man  who  steals  my  Holland 

schnapps 
Shall  dearly  rue  the  day !  " 

OH'  go  the  rogues,  and  Goody  cries. 
With  something  like  a  roar, 

"Old    Gaffer,    vou    have    spoken 

first! 
Now  go  and  bolt  the  door!  " 


HOW  IT  CHANCED. 

AN   ORIENTAL  APOLOGUE. 
I. 

DAME  NATURE,   when  her  work 

was  done, 

And  she  had  rested  from  crea- 
tion, 


now  IT  CHANCED. 


207 


Called  up  her  creatures,  one  by 

one, 
To  fix  for  each  \us,  life's  duration. 


The  ass  came  first,  but  drooped 

his  ears 

On  learning  that  the  dame  in 
tended 
That    lie   should   bear  for   thirty 

years 
His  panniers  ere  his  labor  ended. 


So  Nature,  like  a  gentle  queen 
(The   story   goes),    at  once  re 
lented, 

And  changed  the  thirty  to  eighteen, 
Wherewith  the  ass  was  well  con 
tented. 


The  don; came  next,  but  plainly  said 
So  long  a  life  could  be  but  hate 
ful; 

So  Nature  gave  him  twelve  instead, 
Whereat  the  dog  was  duly  grate 
ful. 


Next  came  the  ape;  but  Nature, 

when 
He  grumbled,  like  the  dog  and 

donkey, 

Instead  of  thirty  gave  him  ten, 
Which  quite  appeased  the  angry 
monkey. 


At  last  came  man;  how  brief  ap 
pears 

The  term  assigned,  for  work  or 
pleasure ! 


'Alas!"   he    cried,    "but    thirty 

years  V 

0  Nature,  lengthen  out  the  meas 
ure!  " 

VII. 

;  Well  then,  I  give  thee  eighteen 

more 

(The  ass's  years);  art  thou  con 
tented  V  " 

•  Nay,"  said  the  beggar,  "I  implore 
A  longer  term."    The  dame  con 
sented. 


VIII. 

"  I  add  the  dog's  twelve  years  be 
side." 
"  'T  is  not  enough !  "     "  For  thy 

persistence, 

I  add  ten  more,"  the  dume  replied, 
"  The  period  of  the  ape's  exist 
ence." 


And  thus  of  man's  threescore  and 

ten, 

The  thirty  years  at  the  beginning 
Are  his  of  right,  and  only  then 
He  wins  whate'er  is  worth  the 
winning. 


Then  come  the  ass's  eighteen  years, 
A  weary  space  of  toil  and  trouble, 

Beset  with  crosses,  cares,  and  fears, 
When  joys  grow  less,  and  sor 
rows  double. 


The  dog's  twelve  years  come  on,  at 

length, 

When   man,   the  jest  of   every 
scorner, 


'208 


THE  THREE  MASKS. 


Bereft    of   manhood's    pride    and 

strength, 

Sits    growling,    toothless,    in    a 
corner. 

XII. 

At  last,  the  destined  term  to  fill, 
The  ape's  ten  years  coxe  lagging 

after, 

And  man,  a  chattering  imbecile, 
Is  but  a  theme  for  childish  laugh 
ter. 


THE  THREE   MASKS. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HARING. 
I. 

UPON  the  monarch's  brow  no  shade 

is  shown; 
The  royal  purple  hides  the  bloody 

throne; 
He  calls  his  vassals  all,  —  the  man 

of  sin,  — 
"  Bring  forth  the  maskers !  let  the 

dance  begin ! " 


The  music  sounds,  and  every  face 

is  glad, — 
All  save  the  King's,  and  that   is 

something  sad; 
And,  lo!   three  tnoio-white  masks 

are  passing  now,    . 
And    dark   clouds   gather  on   the 

monarch's  brow. 

in. 

In  robes  rf  red  the  maskers  now 

are  seen, 
And  black  as  midnight  is  the  royal 

mien. 


In   sable  mantles   next  the   three 

appear, 
And  the  king's  face  is  white  with 

sudden  fear. 


And  now  before  the  throne,  with 

deep  dismay, 
He  sees  three  grinning  skulls   in 

grim  array ; 
Whereat  he  falls  in  terror  from  his 

throne! 
The  masks  have  fled,  and  left  him 

there  alone. 


He  calls  his  vassals:  "Let  each 
villain  bare 

His  visage!"  No,  no  juggling 
rogue  is  there ! 

He  calls  his  page:  "Now,  fellow, 
get  thce  gone, 

And  bring  the  Soothsayer  ere  to 
morrow's  dawn ! " 


"  Go  tell  the  King,"  the  Wise  Man 

made  reply, 
"He  sends  too  late.     God  answers 

him,  not  I! 
When  mortals  look  envisions  such 

as  this, 
Their  own  hearts  tell  them  what 

the  meaning  is. 


"The./?rs<  skull,"  quoth  the  rer- 

erend  Sage,  "  declares 
How   rank   corruption    rules    the 

king's  affairs; 
The  second  says,    '  Since   corpses 

prop  thy  throne, 
Mankind  shall  gaze  with  horror  or 

thine  own! ' 


THE  GHOST  IN  ARMOR. 


209 


VIII. 

"  The  third  proclaims  that  who 
soe'er  1ms  seen 

The  other  twain,  before  the  morrow 
e'en 

Shall  be  the  like  himself!  Beware, 
I  say, 

Beware  the  sable  maskers  in  the 
play!" 

IX. 

Swift  flies,  at  morn,  the  panting 

page  to  bring 
The  fearful  message  to  the  waiting 

king; 
White   lies   the   monarch    in    his 

robes  of  rt-tl, 
On  a  bldck  bier;  for  lo!   the  king 

is  dead! 


THE   GHOST  IN  ARMOR. 

A  LEGEND  OF  ST.  MICHAEL'S  EVE. 

PART   FIRST. 

SIR  WALTER  DE  GUYON  is  surly 

and  sad, 
There 's    trouble    a-brewing,    I 

think; 
The  Steward  is  certain  Sir  Walter 

is  mad, 
And  the  Butler  declare1*,   "He  is 

took  very  bad,  — 
This    morning  he    doubled   his 
drink!  " 

And  why  is  he  ranting  and  raving, 

I  pray, 

And  calling  his  daughter  such 
names  ? 
14 


lie  stands  by  the  Green  in  the 

sturdiest  way; 
And  Alice  has  mounted  the  Orange 

to-day, 
And    laughed   at  the  runaway 

James ! 

And  then  Sir  Walter  has  heard  be 
side, 

From  one  of  his  vigilant  spies, 
How  Alice  his  daughter,  his  dar 
ling  and  pride, 

With  young  l)e  Huyter,  last  even 
ing,  was  spied,  — 
You  may  guess  at  the  knight's 
surprise! 

Beneath  the  casement  the  maiden 

was  seen, 

With  this  gay  gallant  at  her  feet; 
Holding  her  hand  his  own  between, 
And  calling  her  "love,"  and 

"life,"  and  "queen," 
With  kisses  many  and  sweet ! 

De   Ruyter, — a  captain   of    Wil 
liam's  band; 

And  counted  a  worthy  scion 
Of  an  ancient  house  in  the  Dutch 
man's  land; 

But  what  is  he  to  offer  his  hand 
To  one  of  the  race  De  Guyon  ? 

De   Ruyter, — lla    squire  of    low 

degree," 

And  an  anti-Jacobite  war-man; 
And  what  is  he.  whoever  he  be, 
To  match  his  ile  with  the  mighty 

De 

That  was  known    before    "  the 
Norman " ? 

"The  saucy  varlet!"  Sir  Walter 

said; 
"  The  fellow  deserves  to  swing; 


210 


THE  GHOST  IN  ARMUR- 


Before  my  castle  to  show  his  head ! 
I  Ml  serve'  the  dog.as  I  'd  like  in 
stead 
To  serve  his  villanous  king!  " 

In  vain  the  maiden  bemoans  his 
fate; 

Already  the  fierce  Sir  Walter 
Has  set  his  guards  at  every  gate. 
He  is  fain  to  fly,  but  all  too  late; 

He  is  doomed  to  feel  the  halter. 

There  's  a  dismal  cell,  a  dungeon, 

in  sooth, 

Hard  by  the  banqueting-room, 
(Sir  Walter   de  Guyon  has   little 

rath,) 
And  there,   alas!    the   venturous 

youth, 
De  Ruyter,  is  waiting  his  doom. 

Sir  Walter  de  Guyon  is  rather  elate 

At  the  capital  job  he  has  done ; 

So   he  summons  his  friends,    the 

small  and  the  great, 
To  come  and  assist  at  an  elegant 

fete, 
Devoted  to  feasting  and  fun. 


PART  SECOND. 

They  are  eating  and  drinking  with 
glee, 

The  guests  at  this  notable  feast ; 
Lords,  nobles  of  every  degree, 
All  merry  as  merry  can  be, 

With  fifty  retainers  at  least. 

In  the  midst  of  the  revelry  rose 
Sir  Walter  de  Guyon  to  say, 
"  You  all  are  aware,  I  suppose, 
'T  is   St.    Michael's    evening,"  — 

but  shows 

Some     symptoms    of     fainting 
away. 


A  bottle  of  Burgundy  stood 

By  chance  in  the  orator's  reach, 

Which  drinking  as  well  as  he  could, 

And  swearing  the  tipple  was  good, 

Sir    Walter   went  on   with   his 

speech. 

"  'T  was  this  very  night,  as  you 
know, 

My  ancestor,  once  on  a  time, 
As  sundry  old  chronicles  show 
('T  was  ages  and  ages  ago), 

Committed  a  horrible  crime. 

"A   black-armored   knight,   it   is 

told, 

Who  slept  in  a  neighboring  room, 
Was  murdered  ('t  was  thought  for 

his  gold),  — 
The  room  which  now  happens  to 

hold 

The    Dutchman    awaiting    his 
doom. 

"  My  ancestor  noised  it  about, 

The  minions  of  Justice  to  blind, 
That  the  stranger  arose  and  went 

out ; 

But  he  never  could  settle  the  doubt 
Why  the  man  left  his  armor  be 
hind. 

"  Belike   you   have   heard  it   be 
fore,  — 

The  credulous  peasants  believe 
His  ghost,  in  the  armor  he  wore, 
Comes  stalking  abroad,  as  of  yore, 

On  every  St.  Michael  his  Eve  " 

"  What  think  you  ?  "  he  laughingly 

said, 

"  Perhaps  we  may  see  him  to 
night; 

As  often  in  books  we  have  read  — 
Ah !  sees  he  the  ghost  of  the  dead  V 
Why  blanches  Sir  Walter  with 
'fright? 


THE  KING  AND   THE  PEASANT. 


211 


What  meaneth  that  terrible  din, 
Like   the   sound   of  a   bursting 

door? 

See !   black  as  the  angel  of  sin, 
The  Ghost  in  the  Armor  comes  in, 
And  inarches  across  the  floor! 

Aghast  at  the  horrible  sight, 
Down,  down  they  tumble,  and 

lay 

Spent  with  terror  and  fright, 
Through  all  that  terrible  night, 
Quito  into  the  following  day! 

Now  where  is  De  Ruytcr,  I  pray, 

And  Alice  V  (she 's  vanished  from 

sight!) 

There 's  a  letter  from  London  to  say 
The  lovers  had  ridden  away 

On   a   saddle   and    pillion    that 
night. 

His  manner  of  leaving,  of  course, 

His  own  reprobation  had  earned ; 
He  owned  he  was  full  of  remorse 
Concerning  the  armor  and  horse, 
But  both  should  be  quickly  re 
turned. 

And  with  her  good  father's  con 
sent, 
That  is,  should  he  kindly  invite 

her, 

It  was  Alice's  settled  intent 
To  make  him  a  visit  in  Lent, 
Along  with  her  own  De  Kuyter! 


THE   KING   AND   THE   PEAS 
ANT. 

A   SICILIAN   TALE. 

THERE  lived  a  man  who,  from  his 

youth. 
Was  known  to  all  as  "  Peasant 

Truth," 


Because  't  was  said  he  'd  sooner 

die 

Than  tell  or  hint  the  smallest  lie. 
Now,  when  it  happened  that  the 

King 
Had  heard,  at  last,  this  wondrous 

thing, 
He  bade  the  peasant  come  and 

keep 

The  royal  tiock  of  goats  and  sheep, 
(To  wit,  — one  goat,  a  little  lamb, 
A  fine  bell-wether,  and  a  ram.) 
And  once  a  week  lie  went  to  court 
To  see  the  King,  and  make  report 
How  fared  the  flock,  and  truly  tell 
If  each  were  doing  ill  or  well; 
Whereat  the  King  was  well  con 
tent, 

And  home  the  happy  peasant  went. 
At  last,  a  wicked  courtier  —  struck 
With  envy  at  his  neighbor's  luck  — 
Essayed  to  put  him  in  disgrace, 
And    gain   himself  the  peasant's 

place. 
"  Think  you,  good  Sire,  in  very 

sooth, 
He    never    lies,  —  this    Peasant 

Truth  ? 

He  Ml  lie  next  Saturday,"  he  said, 
"  Or,  for  a  forfeit,  take"  my  head!" 
"  So  l)e  it!  and  I  '11  lose  my  own," 
The  King  replied,  "  if  it  be  shown, 
With  all  the  arts  that  you  may 

try, 
That   Peasant   Truth    can  tell   a 

lie!" 

And  now  the  wicked  courtier  fain 
Some  trick  would  try  his  end  to 

gain. 

But  still  he  failed  to  find  a  plan 
To  catch  at  fault  the  honest  man, 
Until  at  last,  in  sheer  despair, 
He  told  his  wife  (a  lady  fair 
As  one  in  all  the  world  could  find, 
And  cunning,  like  all  womankind) 
About  the  wager  ho  had  made, 
And  all  the  case  before  her  laid. 
"  And  is  that  all  V ' '  the  woman  said, 


212 


THE  KING  AND   THE  PEASANT. 


Tossing   in   scorn  her   handsome 

head ; 

"  Leave  nil  to  me,  and  never  doubt 
That   what  vou   wish   I  '11   bring 

about!  " 
Next   day  the  crafty   dame   was 

seen, 

Apparelled  like  a  very  queen, 
And  on  her  brow  a  diamond  star, 
That  like  a  meteor  blazed  afar, 
Approaching   where    the   peasant 

stood 
Among  his  flock.     "Now,  by  the 

Rood!  " 
He   cried,    amazed,    "but  she    is 

fair 

And  beautiful  beyond  compare!  " 
Then,  bowing  to  the  earth,  quoth 

he, 
"  What  may  your  Highness  want 

with  me  ? 
Whate'er    you    ask,    I    swear    to 

grant ! ' ' 
"Ah!"  sighed  the  lady,  "much 

I  want 

Some  roasted  wether,  else  shall  I 
(Such  is  my  longing!)  surely  die!" 
"Alas!"  he  said,  "just  this  one 

thing 

I  cannot  do.     I  serve  the  King, 
Who  owns   the  wether  that   you 

see, 

And  if  I  kill  him,  woe  is  me!  " 
Alack  the  day  for  Peasant  Truth ! 
His  tender    soul   was    moved    to 

ruth ; 
For,  weeping  much,    and   saving 

still 
That  she  should  die,  she  had  her 

will, 
And    of   roast    wether    took    her 

fill! 
"  Ah!  "  sighed  the  man  when  she 

was  gone, 

"  Alas !  the  deed  that  I  have  done ! 
To  kill  the  sheep !     What  shall  I 

say 
When  I  am  asked,  next  Saturday, 


'How  fares  the  wether?'     I  will 

tell 

His  Majesty  the  sheep  is  well. 
No,  that  won't  do !     I  '11  even  say 
A  thief  has  stolen  him  away. 
No,  that    won't  answer.      I   will 

feign 
Some  prowling  wolf  the  sheep  has 

slain. 

No,  that  won't  do!    Ah!  how  can  I 
Look  in  his  face  an1  tell  a  lie?" 
Now   when  the   peasant  came  to 

court 

On  Saturday,  to  make  report, 
As  was  his  wont,  the  King  began 
His  questioning;  and  thus  it  ran: 
"How    is    my   goat?      I    prithee 

tell!"  ' 

"  The  goat,  your  Majesty,  is  well !" 
"  And  how 's  my  ram  ?  "     "  Good 

Sire,  the  ram 
Is  well  and  frisk v."     "  How  's  my 

lambV" 
"He's    well    and    beautiful,    in 

sooth." 
"  And  how's  my  wether,  Peasant 

Truth?"" 
Whereat   he    answered,    "  0    my 

King, 

I  hate  a  lie  like  —  anything. 
When  on  the  mountain-side  afar 
I  saw  the  lady  with  the  star, 
My   soul  was    dazzled  with    her 

beauty, 

And  I  forgot  my  loyal  duty, 
And  when  she  asked  for  wether's 

meat, 
I  killed  the  sheep,  that  she  might 

eat." 
"Good!"    said   the   King,    "my 

wager  's  won ! 
This  grievous  wrong  that  you  have 

done, 

My  truthful  peasant,  I  forgive; 
In  health  and  wealth  long  may  you 

live ! 

While  this,  your  enemy,  instead, 
Shall  justly  lose  his  foolish  head." 


THE  KING'S  FAVORITE. 


213 


THE    TRAVELLER    AND     HIS 
FRIENDS. 

A    GALLIC    LKCEM). 

A  OKNTLKMAX,  about  to  make 
A  trip  at  si-n,  was  begged  to  t;ike 
Commissions  for  a  do/en  friends: 
One  wants  a  watch;  another  sends 
For  wine,  —  "  A  very  special  cask; 
And —  if  it's   not   too   much   to 

;tsk  - 

Some  choice  cigars ;  a  box  will  do ; 
Or.  while  you  're  at    it,  purchase 

two.'" 

Another  friend  would  like  a  pair 
Of  boots, —  "They  're   so   much 

cheaper  there  "  ; 

A  lady  friend  would  have  him  buy 
Some  hires,  —  "  If  they  're  not  too 

high  "  ; 

Another  wants  a  box  of  gloves,  — 
"  Fivich  kids,  von  know,  are  real 

loves!"  * 

Tims  one  wants  this;  another,  that; 
A  book,  a  bonnet,  or  a  hat; 
Enough  to  make  the  moody  man 
(So    high    their   "small    commis 
sions  "  ran 

In  tale  and  bulk)  repent  that  he 
Had  ever  thought  to  cross  the  sea! 
Moreover,  —    lie     it     here     re 
marked,  — 

Before  the  gentleman  embarked, 
His  friends,  for  (ear  he  might  forget 
Their  little  errands,  plainly  set 
Their  wishes  down  in  black  and 

white; 

A  sensible  proceeding  —  quite; 
Hut,  as  it  happened,  not  a  friend 
(With   one  exception)  thought  to 

send 

The  ready  money,  and  to  say, 
"  See,  here  's  the  cash  you  ll  have 

to  pay." 
The  m;m  embarks;  sees  Paris, 

Rome, 
And  other  cities ;  then  comes  home 


Well  pleased  with  much  that  met 

his  eye; 

But  having,  somehow,  failed  to  buy 
A  single  thing  for  any  friend, 
Except  the  one  who  thought  to  send 
The   wherewithal.     Well,   need   I 

say 

That  soonhis  neighbors  cametopay 
Their  greeetings  at  his  safe  return. 
And  charming  health;  and  (also) 

learn 

About  their  little  errands,  —  what 
For  each  the  traveller  had  got? 
"  By  Jove!  "  he  said,  "  it  makes 

me  sad 
To   think   what  wretched  luck  I 

had! 

For  as  at  sea  I  sat  one  day 
Arranging  in  a  proper  way 
The  papers  you  so  kindly  sent, 
A  gale  arose,  and  off  they  went 
Into  the  ocean;  nor  could  I 
Remember    aught   you   bade    me 

buy." 
"  But,"  grumbled  one,  "  if  that 

were  so, 
How  comes  it,  sir,  you  chanced  to 

know 
What  this  man's  errand  was  ?  for 

he 

Has  got  what  he  desired,  we  see." 
"Faith!    so   he   has,  —  beyond  a 

doubt; 

And  this  is  how  it  came  about: 
llis  memorandum  chanced  to  hold 
A  certain  sum  of  solid  gold; 
And  thus  the  paper  by  its  weight 
Escaped  the  others'  windy  fate," 


THE    KING'S    FAVORITE. 

AN   ORIENTAL  TALE. 

A  SHEPHKKD  who  was  wont  to  keep 
With  so  much  care  his  flock  of 
sheep. 


214 


THE  KING'S  FAVORITE. 


That  not  a  man  in  all  the  plains 
Could    show    the    like    in    fleecy 

gains, 
Was   noticed   by  the  King;    who 

said, 

"  One  who  so  long  has  wisely  led 
His  woolly  charge  must  surely  be 
A  proper  man  to  oversee 
A  nobler  liock ;  I  make  thee,  then, 
A  magistrate,  —  to  govern  men  !  " 
''What,"    mused    the    shepherd, 

"shall  I  do? 

A  hermit  and  a  wolf  or  two 
Mv  whole  acquaintance  constitute 
(Kxcepl    my   sheep)    of   man    or 

brute!  " 

His  reason  bade  the  clown  decide 
Against    the    place;     not    so    his 

pride. 

Ambition's  plea  at  last  prevails,' 
And  lo!    the  shepherd  takes   the 

scales. 
Soon     as    his     hermit-neighbor 

heard 

What  to  the  shepherd  had  occurred, 
His  honest  mind  he  thus  expressed: 
"  'T  is  surely  but  a  roynl  jest, 
To  make  of  thee,  who  never  saw 
A  written  page  of  statute  law. 
Chief  Justice  of  the  realm  !    I  deem 
The  tale  is  false,  or  do  I  dream  V 
Ah !  princely  gifts  are  fatal  things ; 
Beware,      I     say,  —  beware      of 

kings!  " 
The  shepherd   listens,    but   the 

while 

His  only  answer  is  a  smile, 
As  one  whose  happiness  provokes 
The  envy  of  inferior  folks. 
"  Alas!  "  the  hermit  cried,  "  I  see 
The  fabled  wagoner  in  thee, 
Who  lost  his  whip,  and  by  mistake 
Took  up  instead  a  torpid  snake, 
That,  warming  in  his  fingers,  stung 
The  foolish  hand  to  which  it  clung, 
A  mortal  bite;  do  iliou,  my  friend, 
Beware  the  like  unhappy  end  !  " 
And  soon  indeed  the  favorite  found 


The    hermit's    plain    advice    was 

sound. 
The  Judge,   although   he  did  his 

best, 

Was  most  unequal  to  the  test ; 
His  judgments,  set  in  legal  light, 
Were  quite  as  often  wrong  as  right; 
And,    worst    of    all,    around   him 

rose 

A  crowd  of  envious,  spiteful  foes, 
Who,    one    and    all,    contrive    to 

bring 

The  blackest  slanders  to  the  King, 
Who  hears,  amazed,  the  story  told 
Of  justice  daily  bought  and  sold. 
Indeed,  his  enemies  declare 
"His    Honor"    takes    the    lion's 

share, 

And  with  the  fruit  of  bribes  alone 
Has  built  a  palace  of  his  own. 

The  King,  astounded  at  his  guilt, 
Would  see  the  palace  he  had  built; 
And  finds,  when  all  his  search  is 

done, 

A  modest  house  of  wood  and  stone. 
He  opens  next  the  fabled  box 
Where,  fast  beneath  a  dozen  locks, 
The  Judge's  famous  jewels  lie; 
But  nothing  meets  the  royal  eye 
Except  a  shepherd's  coat  and  cap 
(The  former  rent  in  many  a  gap), 
And  —  to  reward  his  further  look  — 
A  shepherd's  rusty  pipe  and  crook. 
"  0  treasure  precious  to  my  eyes  I  " 
The  Judge  exclaims,  "from  thee 

arise 

No  hateful  cares,  nor  envious  lies. 
These  I  resume,  and  learn,  though 

late, 

Whoe'er  aspires  to  serve  the  state 
Should  first  consider  well  the  case, 
If  he  is  equal  to  the  place; 
And  long  reflect,  before  he  makes 
That    most    egregious     of    mis 
takes,— 
One's      true      vocation      weakly 

spurned, 
To  serve  a  trade  he  never  learned." 


THE  MERCHANT. 


215 


THE   MERCHANT. 


A  MERCHANT  once,  whom  Fortune 

plied 

With  favors  rare  on  every  side. 
Grew  rich  apace;  his  ships  were 

safe 
Though    storms   might    rave   and 

breakers  chafe; 

To  every  clinic  his  bending  sails 
\Vere  wafted  by  propitious  gales; 
While  others,  good  and  brave  as 

he, 

And  no  less  wi<e  on  land  or  sea, 
With  varying  fortunes  often  tried 
The   fierce   domain  of  wind   and 

tide, 
Anl    paid,    sometimes,   a    goodly 

freight 

In  tribute  to  the  Ocean-Fate. 
No  hidden  reef,  nor  sudden  squall, 
Nor  deadly  calm,  most  feared  of 

all, 
Had    e'er    consigned    his   vessels' 

store 

To  rrral  grove  or  rocky  shore. 
And  more  than  this  ( so,  it  is  known, 
Fate,  when  she  will,  can  guard  her 

own), 

No  agent  proved  an  arrant  knave, 
No  master  found  a  watery  grave, 
No  trusted  clerk  defaulter  turned, 
No  partner  stole  what  both  had 

earned. 

N'or  market  of  a  sudden  fell 
Just   when   his   factor   wished   to 

sell. 

In  short,  his  wines,  tobaccos,  teas, 
Silks,  satins,  linens,  laces,  cheese, 
His  coffee,  sugar,  raisins,  spice, 
Were   sure   to    bring    the   highest 

price ; 

And  so  it  WHS  he  came  to  be 
The  richest  merchant  on  the  sea, 


Andlived*— there 's  little  need  to 
say  — 

In  such  a  princely  sort  of  way 

The  King  himself  could  scarce 
afford 

The  gems  that  decked  our  mer 
chant-lord 


A  friendly  neighbor,  much  amazed 
At   all    the   wealth   on   which   he 

gazed, 
Said,  "  Tell  me,  now,  how  may  it 

be 
That  you  have  come  to  what  we 

see?  " 
The    merchant,    smiling,    swelled 

with  pride, 

And,  like  a  monarch,  thus  replied: 
"  How  comes  itV  —  plain  enough, 

I  trow; 
It  comes,  my  friend,   of  knowing 

how  '  " 

With  growing  riches  now,  indeed, 
The  trader  felt  a  growing  greed, 
And,  giddy  wi  h  prosperitv, 
Stakes  all  he  has  again  at  sea. 
But  now  success  no  longer  paid 
The  heedless  risks   the  merchant 

made. 
One   bark   was    wrecked  because 

her  load, 

For  want  of  care,  was  ill  bestowed  ; 
Another  (lacking  arms,  they  say) 
I    To  ruthless  pirates  fell  a  prey; 
A  third  came  safe,  at  last,  to  land 
With  goods  no  longer  in  demand; 
In  brief,  his  ventures  proved  so  bad 
He  soon  was  stript  ot  all  he  had, 
And  now  among  his  fellow-men, 
Was  but  a  common  man  again. 

Once  more  his  friend  inquiry  made 
Whence  came  disaster  to  his  trade. 
"  What  brought  you  to  this  dismal 
pass?" 


216 


THE  SHERIFF   OF  SAUMUR. 


"  'T  was  Fortune,"  said  the  man, 
"  alas !  " 

"Indeed?  Well,  well,"  the 
friend  replies, 

"Although  her  gold  the  Dame  de 
nies, 

She  yet  may  teach  you  to  be 
wise! " 

So  goes  the  world!  each   thank 
less  elf, 
Whate'er  may  be   his   worldly 

state, 

Imputes  his  blessings  to  himself, 
And  lavs  his  blunders  all  to  Fate. 


THE   FORCE   OF  EXAMPLE. 


A  MOTHER  lobster,  with  her  daugh 
ter 

Conversing  near  their  native  water, 

And  closely  watching,  as  she 
talked, 

The  style  in  which  the  latter 
walked, 

Rebuked  her  for  her  awkward  way 

Of  locomotion:  "Tell  me,  pray," 

The  matron  scolded,  "  why  instead 

Of  b'ick/vqrd,  you  don't  go  ahenrt? 

Such  awkwardness!  Of  course 
you  know 

'T  is  not  the  proper  way  to  go; 

Sure,  folks  of  sense  you  thus  will 
shock, 

And  make  yourself  a  laughing 
stock  !  " 

"  What !  "  said  the  child,  "  do  you 
suppose 

I  don't  know  how  my  mother  goes  ? 

Shall  I  adopt  the  plan  you  say, 

While  all  the  rest  go  t'  other  way  ? 


I  really  have  n't  got  the  face 
To  change  the  custom  of  my  race; 
It  need  not  put  you  in  a  passion, 
I  merely  mean  to  be  in  fashion; 
And,  having  learned  the  way  from 

you, 
I  '11  walk  —  as  other  lobsters  do." 


To  fix  a  good  or  evil  course, 
Example  is  of  potent  force; 
And  they  who  wish  the  young  to 

teach 
Must    even    practise    what    they 

preach. 


THE   SHERIFF   OF   SAUMUR. 

A   LEGEND. 

ONCE,  when  the  King  was  travel 
ling  through 
His  realm,  as  kings  were  wont  to 

do 

In  ancient  times  when  royalty 
Was  deemed  a  goodly  sight  to  see, 
It  chanced  the  Sheriff  of  Saumur, 
A  city  in  the  royal  tour, 
Was  chosen  by  the  magistrates 
To  meet  the  monarch  at  the  gates, 
And  in  a  handsome  speech  declare 
How  glad  and   proud  the   people 

were 

To  see  his  Majesty;  and  say 
Such  compliments  as  subjects  pay, 
As  being  but  the  proper  thing, 
On  such  occasions,  to  the  King. 
"Sire,"   said  the   Sheriff  (so   the 

speech 

Began,  of  course),  "  Sire,  we  be 
seech 


THE   TWO    WALLETS. 


217 


Your  gracious  Majesty  to  hear 
The  humble  words  of  hearty  cheer 
With     which,    great     Sire,    with 

which,  through  me. 
The  people  greet  your  Majesty. 
We  are  so  glad  to  see  you,  Sire, 
That  —  that  —  "     And    here    the 

speech  hung  fire. 
"So    glad  —  the    people    of    our 

town  — 
That  —  that  —  "     And    here    the 

man  broke  down. 
Whereat  a  courtier  said,  "  I  'm  sure 
These  worthy  people  of  Stiumur 
Are   glad,    my    liege,   to   see   you 

here; 

That  seems  to  me  extremely  clear; 
And  don't  his  Honor's  speech  con 
fess  it  V 
So  glad,  indeed,  they  can't  express 

it!" 


THE  TWO  WALLETS. 

WHY  humankind  should  ever  be 
So  keen  their  neighbors'  faults  to 

sec 
While   (wonderful  to  tell!)    their 

own 

Are    to    themselves    almost    un 
known, 

This  ancient  fable  clearly  shows: 
Once  on  a  time,  the  story  goes, 
Great   Jove,   the    wise   Olympian 

King, 

Proclaimed  to  each  created  thing, 
That  he  would  hold  a  special  court 
Where  all  might  come  and  make 

report 
Of  aught  that  each  might  deem  it 

wise 
To  change  in  feature,  form,  or  size. 


He  promised  quickly  to  redress 
All  imperfections,  large  or  less; 
Whatever  error  or  defect 
Each  in  his  person  might  detect. 
First  came  the  Monkey,     Naught 

had  he 
Of  special   fault  —  that  he  could 

see! 

A  paragon  of  wit  and  grace, 
Who    had  —  almost  —  a    human 

face! 

One  seeks  a  finer  form  in  vain, 
Pray,  why  should  such  as  fie  com 
plain  ? 
"But  look  at  Bruin!"  cried  the 

ape; 

"  Was  ever  such  a  clumsy  shape  V 
And  then,  for  life,  condemned  to 

wear 

That  ugly  suit  of  shaggy  hair!  " 
"Nay,"  said  the  bear,  "I  find  my 

form 

As  I  could  wish.  My  fur  is  warm, 
And  looks.  I  think,  extremely  fine, 
Good  Master  Ape,  compared  with 

thine. 

But  see  the  Elephant!  his  size 
Is  much  too  huge;   and  I  advise 
(So  ludicrous  the  beast  appears) 
To  stretch   his  tail,  and  crop  his 

ears !  " 
"Nay,"  quoth  the  Elephant,  who 

deems 

His  figure  clear  of  all  extremes, 
"I    can't  complain,  —  I'm  quite 

content!  " 
But   then   he   marvelled  what    it 

meant 
The  Whale  should  be  so  huge  and 

fat! 

The  Ant  was  sorry  for  the  Gnat! 
The    Gnat    reproached    the    tiny 

Flea  ! 

How  could  one  live  so  small  as  she  V 
Thus  all  the  animals,  in  turn, 
The  faults  of  others  could  discern; 
Rut  not  a  creature,  large  or  small, 
His  own  defects  could  see  at  all. 


218 


THE   GREAT   CRAB. 


So  fares  it  with  the  human  race, 
Who,  thanks  to  Heaven's  especial 

grace, 

A  double  wallet  always  wear, 
All  sorts  of  sins  and  crimes  to  bear. 
Within  the  pouch  that  hangs  be 
fore 
The   faults  of   other    folks   are 

thrown ; 
While,    safely    out   of   sight,    we 

store 
The  hinder  pocket  with  our  own. 


THE   GREAT   CRAB. 

A   GERMAN    LEGEND. 
I. 

NEAR  Lake  Mohrin,  'tis  said,  by 

day  and  night, 

The  folks  all  tremble  with  unceas 
ing  fright 
Lest  the  Great  Crab,  we  all  have 

heard  about, 
By  some  device  should  manage  to 

get  out ! 
He  's  fastened  down  below,  you 

see, 

And  in  the  strongest  way; 
For.   should  he  happen  to  get 

free, 
The  deuce  would  be  to  pay ! 


An    ugly  monster   of  prodigious 

strength, 
A  mile   in    breadth   and    twenty 

miles  in  length, 
He  keeps  the  water  foaming  in  the 

lake, 


And,  once  on  land,  what  trouble 

he  would  make ! 
For  with  his  backward  motion 

(so 

An  ancient  seer  declares) 
All  other  things  would  backward 

£", 
Throughout  the  world's  affairs. 


The    Burgomaster  —  mightiest   of 

men  — 
Would  turn,  that  day,  a  sucking 

child  again; 
The  Judge   and   Parson,  changed 

to  little  boys, 
Would  quit  their 'learned  books  for 

tiny  toys, 
And   so   with    matrons,   maids, 

and  men, 

All  things  would  be  reversed; 
And  everything  go  back  again 
To  what  it  was  at  first. 


Such    mischief    to    the    people! 

While  they  eat, 

Back  to  the  plate  will  go  the  smok 
ing  meat, 
And  thence   to  pot !     The   bread 

will  turn  again 
To  flour;   the  flour  go  back  once 

more  to  grain. 
Back    to    the   (lax   (0   sight  of 

shame ! ) 

Will  go  the  linen  shirt; 
The  flax  return   to   whence    it 

came, 
A  linseed  in  the  dirt. 


v. 

The  timber  in  the  house  at  once 

will  move 
As  trees  again  back  to  the  prima\ 

grove ; 


LOVE  AND  FOLLY. 


219 


The  liens  will  turn  to  chickens,  in 

a  crack, 
The  chicks  into  the  eggs  again  go 

back, 
And  these  the  Great  Crab  with 

hi>  tail, 

At  one  prodigious  crash, 
Will  knock,   as   with  a  thresh 
ing-flail, 
To  everlasting  smash! 


Xow  Heaven   defend   us   from   so 

dire  a  fate ! 
The  world,  I  think,  is  doing  well 

of  late; 

And  for  the  Crab,  let  all  good  peo 
ple  pray 
That  in  his  lake  he  evermore  may 

stay  ! 
Else  even  this  poor  song  {alack  ! 

How  very  sad  to  think!) 
With  all  the  rest  must  needs  go 

back, 
And  be  a  drop  of  ink ! 


LOVE   AND   FOLLY. 

AN   ALLEGORY. 

CUPID,  we  know,  is  painted  blind; 
The  reason  it  were  hard  to  find, 
Unless,  indeed,  we  may  suppose 
The  fable  of  Lafontaine  shows, 
Heyond  a  reasonable  doubt, 
How  the  misfortune  came  about. 
'T  is  said  that  on  a  certain  day, 
As  Love  and  Folly  were  at  play, 
They  fell  into  u  warm  debate 
Upon  a  point  of  little  weight, 
Until,  so  high  the  quarrel  rose, 
From  angry  words  they  came  to 
blows. 


Love,  little  used  to  warlike  arts 
(Save  with   his   famous  bow  and 

darts), 
Although  he  fought   with   all  his 

might, 
Was   quickly  vanquished    iu  the 

light;" 

Miss  Folly  dealt  him  such  a  slap 
Across  the  face,  the  little  chap 
Fell  in  a  swoon,  and  woke  to  find 
He  could  not  see!  —  the  boy  was 

blind ! 
Xow   when  his   doting    mother 

came 

To  know  the  case,  the  angry  dame 
Uehaved  as  any  mother  might 
Whose  only  son  bad  lost  his  sight. 
Whaie'er  had  caused  the  dreadful 

deed, 

Malicious  aim,  or  want  of  heed, 
Such  wrath  in  Heaven  was  seldom 

seen 
As  Venus  showed  in  speech  and 

mien. 

She  stunned  Olympus  with  hercries 
For  vengeance.     ''What!  put  out 

his  eyes ! 

My  precious  Cupid!     Let  the  jade 
Straight   down   to    Orciis  be  con 
veyed  ! 

That  justice  may  be  duly  done 
On  her  who  maimed  my  darling 

son, 

And  left  the  lad,  bereaved  of  sight, 
To  grope  in  everlasting  night!  " 
While  Venus  thus  for  vengeance 

prayed 
On    Folly', — thoughtless,   hapless 

maid,— 
Great    Jove    convenes    a    special 

court 

To  hear  the  case  and  make  report. 
In  solemn  council  long  thev  sit 
To  judge  what  penalty  is  fit 
The  crime  to  answer;  and,  beside 
Some  restitution  to  provide 
(If  aught,  indeed,  they  can  derisej 
For  Master  Cupid's  ruined  eyes. 


220 


LOVE   OMNIPOTENT. 


And  thus,  at  last,  it  was  decreed, 
That  Folly,  for  her  wicked  deed, 
In  part  the  damage  should  restore 
By  leading  Cupid  evermore ! 

L' ENVOI. 

And  so  it  comes  that  still  we  see 
The  maid  where'er  the  boy  may 

be; 

Love  still  is  blind;  and  Folly  still 
Directs  the  urchin  where  she  will. 


LOVE  OMNIPOTENT. 

A  DIALOGUE   OF  THE   GODS. 

ACT  I.    SCENE:  Hades. 
PLUTO,  MERCURY. 

PLUTO.     My  Furies  all  are  get 
ting  old,  and  fill 

Their  office,  I  protest,  extremely 
ill; 

Go,  Mercury,  to  Earth,  and  gather 
there 

A  score  or  so;  there  's  plenty  and 
to  spare, 

I  warrant  me,  among  the  woman 
kind, 

By  use   and   disposition   well  de 
signed 

For    Fury-service    of   the    active 
8ort. 

Examine  well,  and  bring  me  due 

report. 

MERCURY.    I  'm  off  at  once !     I 
fancy  I  can  find 

Fifty,   at  least,   exactly  to  your 
mind; 

Sharp-tongued,  sour-visaged,  mal 
ice-loving  ladies 

Whom  others  than  yourself  have 
wished  in  Hade«! 

[Exit  MERC  CRY. 


ACT    II.     SCENE:    Olympus:  JUNO'S 
boudoir. 


JUNO,  IRIS. 

JUNO.    I  'm  much  annoyed,  good 
good  Iris,  with  the  airs 

Of   vaunting    Venus,  —  as    if   all 
affairs 

In  Heaven  and  Earth  were  under 
her  control ! 

I  hear  she   boasts   that  scarce   a 
human  soul 

Is  free  from  her  authority;  that  all 

The  people  in  the  world  are  fain  to 
fall 

Upon  their  knees  at  her  command, 
and  own 

No  equal  goddess  on  the  Olympian 

throne. 

IRIS.     I?  't  possible? 
JUNO.      Yes,    Iris,    worse    than 
that, 

She    and    her   boy,    (a    mischief- 
breeding  brat!) 

Who  aids  his  mother  by  his  wicked 
art. 

Declare  (0  shame!)  there's  not  a 
female  heart 

In      all      the      universe  —  below, 
above  — 

Which  has  not  felt  the  subtle  force 
of  love ! 

An  arrant  falsehood,  spoken  just  to 
vex 

The  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  scandal 
ize  the  sex. 

Among  the  earthly  maidens,  there 
fore,  go, 

And  bring  me  back  some  evidence 
to  show 

That  Cytherea  says  —  what  isn't 

so! 

IRIS.      I  fly!    and   never  for   a 
moment  doubt 

I  '11  bring  you  proofs  to  wipe  the 
slander  out. 

{Exit  IRIS. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  AND   THE  RUSTIC. 


221 


ACT    III       SCENE:    same    as    before. 
Ju>'O  reading. 


(Enter  IRIS.) 

IRIS.  0  gracious  Queen,  I  've 
had  a  precious  time ! 

Well,  I  must  say,  if  love  is  such  a 
crime 

As  well  I  know  it  is,  (the  more's 
•   the  pity!) 

There's  not  a  place  on  Earth  — 
hamlet  or  city  — 

That  isn't  full  of  it!     In  actual 
life 

'T  is  the  chief  topic;  fiction,  too.  is 
rife 

With  endless  talk  about  it.    On  the 
stage, 

In  poems,  songs,  't  is  everywhere 
the  rage. 

Love,   love,   was  still    the  theme 
where'er  I  went, 

In  court,  cot,  castle,  and  the  war 
rior's  tent, 

Love-knots,   love-plots,   love-mur 
ders  !  —  such  a  rush 

For  love-romances  in  the  papers  — 
JUNO.  Hush ! 

Do  stop  your  prattle,  Iris,  and  con 
fess 

You  found  some  souls  as  yet  un 
tainted  — 
IRIS.  Yes! 

That  is,  I  heard  of  three, — three 
virgin  breasts 

That  never  once  had  throbbed  at 

Love's  behests. 

JUNO.  Of  course  you  brought 
them  with  you.  Three  will 
prove 

All  are  not  vassals  to  the  Queen  of 

Love ! 

IRIS.  Well  —  no  —  unluckily, 
the  day  before 

A   royal   messenger  from   Pluto's 


Took  them  away  to  grace  his  grimy 
court, 

His  stock  of  Furies  being  some 
thing  short. 
[JUNO  faints,  and  curtain  falls. 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  AND  THE 
RUSTIC. 

A   MORAL  HOMILY. 

A  GRAVE  philosopher,  whose  name 
To  Scythia  gave  resplendent  fame, 
Intent  his  knowledge  to  increase, 
A   journey   took   through   classic 

Greece, 

Where,  to  his  profit  and  delight, 
He  saw  full  many  a  novel  sight, 
Towers,  temples,  people,  —  and 

much  more, 

As  brave  Ulysses  did  of  yore; 
But  chiefly  he  was  struck  to  see 
A  simple  man.  of  low  degree, 
Untaught  in  philosophic  page, 
But  in  his  life  a  very  sage. 
His  farm,  a  little  patch  of  land, 
He  tilled  with  such  a  clever  hand, 
It  yielded  all  he  cared  to  spend, 
And   something  more   to  treat  a 

friend. 
Approaching  where   the  rustic 

now 

Was  clipping  at  an  apple-bough, 
The  Scythian  gave  a  wondering 

look 

To  see  him  wield  hispruning-hook, 
Here  lopping  off  a  withered  limb, 
There  reaching  high  a  branch  to 

trim, 

Correcting  nature  everywhere, 
But  always  with  judicious  care. 
"Sir,"  said  the  Tourist,  "tell  me 

why 
This  wanton  waste  that  meets  mv 

eve? 


222 


THE   GARDENER   AND    THE   KING. 


Your    husbandry     seems     rather 

rough ; 
Time's  scythe  will  cut  them  soon 

enough." 
"Nay."  said  the   Sage,   "I  only 

dress 

My  apple-trees,  and  curb  excess : 
Enhancing    thus,    as    seems    but 

wise, 
My  fruit  in  sweetness,  tale,   and 

size." 
Returning   home    the   Scythian 

took 

Without  delay  his  pruning-hook, 
.On  all  his  trees  the  knife  he  tried, 
And  cut  and  carved  on  every  side, 
Nor  from  his  murderous  work  re 
frained 

Till  naught  but  barren  stumps  re 
mained. 

MORAL. 

This  Scythian  sage  resembles  those 
Who  deem  their  passions  are  their 

foes; 

And  who,  instead  of  pruning  where 
Excess  requires  the  owner's  care. 
Cut  down  the  tree  that  God  has 

made 
With    fierce    Repression's     cruel 

blade; 

And  thus,  for  future  life,  destroy 
All  precious  fruit  of  human  joy. 


THE    GARDENER    AND    THE 
KING. 

FROM   THE   GERMAN. 

ONCE  on  a  time,  at  Erivan, 
There  dwelt  a  poor  but  honest  man 
Who  kept  a  little  garden,  where 
There  grew  much  fruit,  so  fine  and 
fair, 


So  large  and  juicy,  ripe  and  sound, 
'T  was    known   for  many  leagues 

around. 

One  day,  a  neighbor,  looking  o'er 
|    The   autumn's    wealth,    a   goodly 

store, 
Advised  the  owner  thus:    "Good 

man, 

Take  some  of  these  to  Ispahan; 
'T  will  please  the  King,  who,  I  am 

told, 

Cares  more  for  luxury  than  goul; 
And   so   your   fortune   you  '11    in 
crease 

By  many  a  shining  golden  piece." 
"Faith!  so  I  will!"  the  man  re 
plies. 

Then  to  the  market-place  he  hies; 
The  finest  basket  he  can  find 
He  buys,  then  stores  it  to  his  mind 
With  choicest  fruit  of  every  sort, 
And  off   he   starts   for   king  and 

court. 
Arrived,   the  Marshal  asks  his 

name, 
And,  learning  whence  and  why  he 

came, 
He  bade  him  enter.     That's  the 

way 

It  was  in  Persia, — and  to-day 
In  every  land,  except  our  own, 
The  same  partiality  is  shown; 
The  giver  finds  an  open  gate, 
While   he    who   seeks   may  stand 

and  wait ! 
The   King,    delighted   with   the 

fruit, 
Returned  his  thanks,  —  and  would 

it  suit 
The  worthy  man  to   bring  some 

more  ? 

Ah,  that  it  would !     Was  e'er  be 
fore 

A  man  so  lucky?     Now,  the  while 
He  waits  to  catch  the  royal  smile, 
And  get  his  pay,  he  stares  ot  all 
So  new  and   strange  — the  k»f>>- 
hall, 


THE    VISION    OF    THE   FAIT  11  Ft' 


223 


And  people  there ;  among  the  rest, 
To  put  his  manners  to  the  test, 
An  ugly  little  <l\v;irf  lie  spies, 
A  hunchback  of  such  paltry  size 
The     gardener     laughed     aloud. 

Alack! 
"  The    fellow    with    the    crooked 

back 
And     bandy    legs !  —  who    could 

have  known 
That  hf   in   rank   was    next    the 

fhronc  V 
Though   small  in  size,    in    honor 

great, 

In  fact,  Prime  Minister  of  State!  " 
His    Honor    scowled   and    looked 

around, 
And     on     the     stranger     grimly 

frowned. 

Enough !    the   guard,  who   under 
stand 
The   hint,  now  take   the   chap  in 

hand, 
And,  quicker  than  you  read  the 

tale, 

The  gardener  finds  himself  in  jail ! 
Here,    quite    forgotten,    he    re 
mained, 

Of  light  and  liberty  restrained, 
For    twelve,    long    months;     and 

might,  no  doir  t, 

Have  been  still  longer  getting  out, 
Had  not  the  King,  grown  hard  to 

suit, 

Made  mention  of  the  finer  fruit 
The  stranger  brought  a  year  ago, 
And  thus  his  Majesty  would  know 
What  it  might  mean,  and  why  the 

man 

Had  come  no  more  to  Ispahan? 
Now,  when  the  truth  was  brought 

to  light, 
The  King — who  laughed  with  all 

his  might 

To  hear  about  the   strange   mis 
hap  — 

Said,  "Go,  my  men!    and   bring 
the  chap; 


'T  is    fit     I    make     rism      some 

amends." 

Forth  comes  the  gardener,  and  at 
tends 
Upon  the  King,  who  says,  "I've 

heard 

The  story,  fellow,  every  word, 
And  fain  some  recompense  would 

make; 

Indeed,  it  was  a  grave  mistake. 
Although    it   makes  me   laugh  to 

split 
My  sides — ha!  ha!  —  to  think  of 

it! 
Now,  name  your  wish,  —  an  easy 

task, — 
And    1  will   grant  whate'er  you 

ask." 
"  Then    grant    me   this,"  replied 

the  man, 

"An  axe,  some  salt,  an  Alkoran. 
Well,  that  will  do;  of  all  your  store 
Those    will    suflice,  —  I    ask    no 

more." 

"Strange    things    to    ask!"    ex 
claimed  the  King, 
"  Now  tell   the  meaning    of   this 

thing." 

"  The  axe  I  want  to  fell  the  tree 
That  bore  the  fruit  1  gave  to  thec; 
The  salt,  upon  the  earth  to  sow, 
That    none     thereon     again    may 

grow ; 

The  Alkoran,  that  1  may  swear, 
While  I  enjoy  God's  blessed  air, 
That  I  will  never  darken  more 
(With     my     consent)     &    palace 

door!  " 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  FAITH 
FUL. 

UPON  the  faithful  in  the  common 

things 

Enjoined  of  Duty,  rarest  bless 
ings  wait. 


224 


THE   OLD   GENERAL  AND  HIS  KING. 


A  pious  Nun  (an  ancient  volume 

brings 
The    legend    and    the    lesson), 

while  she  sate 
Reading    some    scriptures   of  the 

Sacred  Word, 
And      rr>arvelling      much      at 

Christ's  exceeding  grace, 
Saw  in  her  room  a  Vision  of  the 

Lord, 
With  sudden  splendor  filling  all 

the  place ! 
Whereat    she    knelt,    enraptured; 

when  a  bell 
Signalled  her  hour  to  feed   the 

convent's  poor; 
Which    humble    duty    done,    she 

sought  her  cell, 
And    lo !    the   Vision,    brighter 

tnan  before, 
Who,  smiling,  spake:  "Even  so  is 

Heaven  obtained; 
I  —  hadst  thou  lingered  here  — 
had  not  remained !  " 


THE  FAIRIES'    GIFTS. 

IN  a  far-away  country,  some  cen 
turies  since, 

(If  the   story  is  false,  it  is  cer 
tainly  pleasant,) 
Two  fairies  attended  the  birth  of  a 

Prince, 

And,    after  their  custom,  each 
brought  him  a  present. 

"I    bring    him,"  one   whispered, 

"  the  eagle's  bright  vision, 
So  keen  and  wide-reaching  that 

even  a  fly 
The  monarch  may  mark  with  the 

sharpest  precision, 
However  remote,  at  a  glance  of 
his  eye." 


"  An  excellent  gift  for  a  sovereign, 

no  doubt," 
The  other  responds,  "  is  a  good 

pair  of  eyes: 
But   an  eagle  would  scorn   to   l><2 

peering  about, 

With  intent  to   remark   the  oe- 
havior  of  flies! 

"  And  so  to  your  present  I  beg  to 

unite 
A   gift   of  my  choosing,  —  well 

suited  to  kings, 
And  others  no  less;  to  the  eagle's 

keen  sight 

I  add  his  contempt  for  all  trivial 
things!  " 

"  In  sooth,"  said  the  first,  "  I  con 
fess  that  I  think 

Your    cautious    restriction    ex 
ceedingly  wise; 
How  often  it  happens  that  merely 

to  wink 

Is    the    properest    uso    we  can 
make  of  our  eves !  " 


THE  OLD  GENERAL  AND  HIS 
KING. 

"ALL,  men  think  all  men  mortal 

but 
Themselves!"  says  Young.     The 

case  is  put 

Extremelystrong,  and  yet,  in  sooth, 
The  statement  scarce  exceeds  the 

truth. 

That  is  to  say,  excepting  those 
So  very  ill  they  can't  suppose 
They've    long     to    live,     there's 

scarcely  one 
But  deems  his  earthly  course  will 

run 


SAJ.VT   VERENA   AND  SATAN. 


225 


(Despite  some  transient  doubts  and 

fears) 

Beyond  liN  friend's  of  equal  years. 
In  proof  Iio\v  far  such  dreams  pre 
vail, 

Pray  mark  tliis  old  historic  tale. 
A  (leneral  whose  lengthened  term 
Of  life  had  found  him  quite  infirm, 
Was  questioned  by  his  Majesty 
(Older,  by  several  years,  than  he) 
About    "  his      place      of     burial. 

"Where." 
The  King  inquired  with    friendly 

care, 
"  Pray  tell  me,  would  it  please  you 

"  best 
Your    brave    old    honored    bones 

should  rest  V  '' 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Soldier,"  seldom  I 
Have  thought  of  death ;  but  when 

I  die, 

I  M  have  my  grave  not  quite  alone, 
But  near  to  where  they've  placed 

vour  own!  " 


SAINT  YET7ENA  AND  SATAN. 

A    I.KCiKND    (IK    THE    ALPS. 

BET  ow  Mount  Jura  lies  n  vale 
Extremely  dark  and   deep   and 

wide, 
Where  once,  if  we  may  trust  the 

tale, 

Good  Saint    Verena   lived    and 
died. 


A  pious  damsel,  sooth,  was  she, 
Who  made  her  lowly  life  sublime 

\\  ith  works  of  grace  and  charity; 
The  marvel  of  her  age  and  clime. 


To  heal   the  sick,  and  teach  the 

young, 
And  lead  the  weak  in  Virtue's 

ways, 

Her  daily  life,  — and  every  tongue 
In  all  the  valley  sang  her  praise, 

Save  one,  — of  course  the  "Evil 

One,"  — 

Who,  being  evermore  at  strife 
With  pious  folks,  left  naught  un 
done 
To  end  good  Saint  Verena's  life. 

Sometimes  lie  tumed,  the  legends 

s;iyi 

A  mountain  torrent  in  her  path: 
In  vain  !  dry-shod  she  held  her  way, 
Unhurt,     despite     the     Devil's 
wrath ! 

And  once  a  murderer,  in  the  night, 
The  fiend  employed  to  take  her 

life; 

In  vain !  for  when  his  lantern  light 
Revealed  her  face,   he  dropped 
his  knife. 

And  so  it  fell  the  Devil's  skill 
No     harm      to     Saint     Verena 

brought; 

He  failed  to  work  his  wicked  will, 
And    all    his    maiice    came    to 
naught. 

Enraged,  at  last  he  seized  a  stone, 

Intent  at  once  to  crush  her  dead, 

(A  rock   that  weighed  at  least  a 

ton ! ) 

And   held    it  poised  above   her 
head. 

Whereat  she  turned,   and   at  the 

sight 

(Such   angel-beaut}'    filled    her 
face) 


226 


THE  SPELL   OF   CIRCE. 


Poor   Satan    shuddered    with    af 
fright, 
And  fain  had  fled  the  hcly  place ! 


And  in  his  fear  he  trembled  so 
He  dropped  the  stone,  —  down  — 
down  it  goes ! 

To  fall  on  Saint  Verena  V  —  No ! 
It  falls  instead  on  Satan's  toes ! 


And  since  that  day  he  limps  about, 
Unable  more  to  le.ip  or  run; 

And,   that   the    story    none    may 

doubt, 
You  still  may  see  the  very  stone ; 


With   five   deep   marks  on  either 

side, 
Which — so   the   pious   peasant 

hints, 

Though  wicked  sceptics  may  de 
ride  — 

Are     clearly     Satan's     finger 
prints. 


THE  SPELL   OF   CIRCE. 

A    CLASSIC    FABLE. 

\Viifcjf  all  his  comrades  drank  the 

magic  bowl 
Of  crafty  Circe,  changing  form  and 

soul 
Of  men  to  brutes,  — wolves,  lions, 

bears,  and  swine, 
Ulysses  only,  full  of  strength  divine, 
And   matchless   wisdom,    'scaped 

the  siren's  snare; 
Refused    the    tempting  cup,    and 

(triumph  rare ! ) 


Returned  another  mixed  with   so 

much  >ki\\ 
It  charmed    the    charmer   to   the 

hero's  will. 
Till  now  she  promised   to  restore 

his  men 
From    beastly    shapes    to   human 

forms  again, 
If  so   they    willed  — "Pray,    lot 

them  freely  choose," 
The  siren  said:  '-but  what  if  they 

refuse?  " 
Straight  to  the  brutes  their  ancient 

leader  ran, 
And   thus,    with    joy,    his    eager 

tongue  began: 

"  My  presence  here  your  quick  re 
lease  secures: 
Speak  but  the  word,  —  for  speech 

again  N  yours." 
The   lion   answered  firsf:  "What, 

iy  a  king! 
To  change   my  state    for   Mich   a 

paltry  thing 
As  a  mere  cit  or  sailor'?     Let  me 

be! 
I'm   always   armed,    for    I    have 

claws,  you  see ! 
As  monarch  of  the    forest  now  I 

range; 
Thank*  for  your  kindness, — but 

I  would  not  change." 
Ulysses     next     approached     the 

shaggy  bear: 
"  Alas !  how  ill  your  form  and  face 

compare 
With   those,  rny  friend,  that  you 

were  wont  to  show 
To  courtly   dames  a  little   while 

ago'!  " 
"  Indeed,"  the  bear  replied,  "  my 

present  form 
Is  one  I  find   extremely  nice  an  1 

warm ; 
And  as  to  features,  sir,  the  ursine 

race 
Have  their  own  notions  of  a  pretty 

face. 


THE    TWO   GRAVES. 


227 


I  well  remember  what  I  used  to 

Vie,  — 
A  shivering  sailor  on  the  stormy 

*e:i ; 
And,  faith!  old   man,  I   tell   you 

]ihunp  and  square, 
Compared    with  such,  I'd  rather 

1)0  a  bear !  " 
Next  to  the  wolf  the  anxious  hero 

came, 
And  pegged  the  brute  to  change 

his  ugly  name 
And  office,  —  "  What !  destroy  the 

shepherd's  Hocks? 
Sure,  such  a   life   a  noble  nature 

shocks: 
Quit    now,    my    old    companion, 

while  you  can, 
Your   thieving   trade,   and   be   an 

honest  man  !  " 
"An    honest   manV"  he  howled, 

'•  nay.  who  d'  ye  mean  ? 
Faith'  that's  a  man  that  I   have 

never  seen ! 
And   as   to   eating    sheep, — pray 

tell  me  when 
They  ceased  to   be   the  prey  and 

food  of  men? 
Savage?  you  say;  why,  men  slay 

men,  we  find; 
Wolves,  at  the  worst,  nre  wont  to 

spare  their  kind  !  " 
The     hog    came    next.      Change 

back?     Not  lie!  to  tell 
The  honest  truth,  he  liked  his  ease 

too  well; 
"  \Vherewill  you  find,"  grunts  out 

the  filthy  swine, 
"  A  life    so  blest  with   luxury  as 

mine? 
To  eat  and  drink  and  sleep,  —  grow 

plump  and  fat,  — 
What  more,  I  ask,  can  mortal  wish 

than  that?" 
So  answered  all  the  rest,  the  small 

and  great, 
Each    quite    contented    with    his 

beastly  state; 


Each   spurning  manhood  and   its 

joys,  to  boot, 
To  be  a   lawless,  lazy,  sensual  — 

brute. 


THE  TWO   GRAVES. 

A    GEHMAN   LEGEND. 

A  MAN  who  long  had  tried  in  vain 
The  doctor's  skill  to  ease  the  pain 
That  racked  his  limbs,  until  his 

gout 

Scarce  suffered  him  to  crawl  about, 
Though  much  inclining  to  despair, 
Gave  ear  to  all  who  spoke  him  fair, 
And  told  of  means  that  might  in 
sure 
The  end  he  sought,  —  relief  or 

cure. 
Among  a  crowd  of  such,  there 

c;:me, 

To  proffer  help,  an  ancient  dame, 
Who,  having  heard   with   solemn 

face 

The  nature  of  the  patient's  ease. 
Advised    him    thus:     "At    early 

light, 
While  yet  the  grass  is  damp  with 

night, 

Go  sit  upon  a  good  man's  grave, 
And  in  the  dews  upon  it  lave 
Your    aching    limbs;     repeat    it 

thrice; 
My   word,    't  will   cure  you   in  a 

trice. 
Next    morning   at   the  dawn  of 

day 

The  cripple  takes  his  weary  way 
Unto  the  churchyard  ;  where,  upon 
A  monument  of  polished  stone, 
He   read  with  joy:  "Here  lies  a 

man 
Whose  living  virtues  far  outran 


228 


KJNG  PYRRIIUS  AND  HIS    COUNSELLOR. 


All  words  of  praise,  — a  model  he 
Of  Justice,  Goodness,  Charity." 
Enough !  the  patient  takes   his 

seat 

And  in  the  moisture  hathes  his  feet 
And  aching  joints;  but,  sooth  to 

say, 

It  did  not  drive  his  gout  away, 
Though  thrice  repeated ;   nav,  he 

swore 

The  pain  was  greater  than  before. 
What  next?     Nearby,  a  hillock 

lies 
Of  grass-grown  earth ;   and  so  he 

tries 
The     dame's     prescription     once 

again; 
And  lo!    swift  flies  the  patient's 

pain ; 
He   drops   his  staff,  and,    strange 

to  tell, 
His   gout   is   gone.  —  the   man   is 

well ! 
With  grateful  heart  and  beaming 

face 
He  turns   the  sleeper's  name    to 

trace ; 

But  no  ;    a  slab  is  there  alone, 
With  not  a  word  upon  the  stone. 


"To    conquer  Rome! — a  pretty 

prize. 
And  worth  the  cost,"  the  King  re- 


KING     PYRRHUS     AND     HIS, 
COUNSELLOR. 

AN   APOLOGUE   FKOM    BOILEAU. 

QUOTH    Cyneas,    counsellor    and 

friend 
To   royal   Pyrrhus,  —  ''To   what 

end, 

Tell  me,  O  mightiest  of  kings, 
Are  all   these   ships  and   warlike 

things?  " 


"  She  '11  prove,  I  think,  a  valiant 

foe; 

So,  if  you  please,  to  Rome  we  go." 
"  Well,  —  Rome  reduced,  my  royal 

friend, 
What   conquest  next  do  you   in- 

tend?" 

"  The  rest  of  Italy  will  do 
To  keep  our  arms  from  rusting." 

•'  True. 

And  then,  of  course  there  's  some 
thing  more  —  " 
"  We'l, —  Sicily,    a     neighboring 

shore, 
Is   worth    the   having."      "  Verv 

well,  — 
What  next?"     "That  is  n't  hard 

to  tell; 

Of  such  a  navy  what 's  the  use 
Unless  we  sail  to  Syracuse?  " 
"  'T  is  well,  —  and,  having  at  com 
mand 
All   these,  why,  then  you  Ml  stay 

your  hand?  " 
"  No.     Syracuse  obtained,    we  Ml 

make 
A  trip   to   Carthage;    then   we'll 

take  —  " 

"  Your  scheme  is  vast.  I  must  con 
fess. 

Thus  you  advance  till  you  possess 
Arabia,  Africa,  and  what 
May  lie   beyond,  —  till    you    have 

got 
Tbe    Indian    realm;    nor    resting 

there, 
Extend      your     broad     dominion 

where 
The  hardy  Scythian  dwells.     And 

then?" 
"Why,    then   we'll  hasten   back 

again, 
And   take  our  ease,  and  sweetly 

spend 


THE  FARMER  WHO  MADE  HIS  OWN  WEATHER.      229 


Our  lives  in  pleasure  to  the  end." 
So  quotli  the  King.     "Ah!"   Cy- 

neas  said. 
Ami    gravely   shook  his   reverend 

head, 

"  Why  go  so  far  and  pay  so  dear 
For  pleasures,  Sire,  that  now  and 

here 
We    may    pop-ess V     How    much 

more  wise 

To  take,  the  pood  that  near  us  lies, 
To  seize  the  passing  joy,  unvext 
With     anxious    care     about    the 

next!  " 


THE     FARMER     WHO     MADE 
HIS    OWX   WEATHER. 

ONCE     on      a     time,     Lafontaine 

writes, 
Jove,    sitting    on     th'     Olympian 

heights, 

Called  nimble  Mercury  to  his  side, 
And    bade   him   publish,    far   and 

wide, 
"  A  farm    to   let!"     Whereat  he 

flies 

Through  all  the  world  to  advertise 
"  The  finest  farm  that  can  be  found 
For  fifty  thousand  miles  around; 
To   let  —  on   terms  quite   sure   to 

please 
Whoe'er   mav   wish   to    take    the 

lease!'" 
Then   came  the    farmers  thick 

and  fast 

To  see  the  land,  —  which  far  sur 
passed 
Their   brightest  hopes;    but   in  a 

trice 

All  fell  to  hiirgling  at  the  price. 
One   said   the  soil   was  thin   and 

poor; 
Another,  that  it  lacked  manure; 


And  still  another  man  made  bold 
To  say  the  land  was  sour  and  cold ; 
Each   finding  fault,   with  shrewd 

intent 

To  cheapen  what  he  wished  to  rent. 
At  length,  when    all    had   said 

their  say, 

And  some  began  to  go  away, 
One,    who   as   yet    had    held    his 

peace. 

Proposed  at  once  to  take  the  lease, 
Provided  Jove    would    give    him 

power 
O'er  cold  and  heat,  o'er  sun  and 

shower; 

In  brief — to  sum  it  all  together  — 
The  power  to  regulate  the  weather! 
'T  is  granted !     So,  by  Jove's  com 
mand, 

The  joyful  tenant  takes  the  land. 
He  rains  or  shines,  makes  cold  or 

warm, 
Brings  down  the  dew,  averts  the 

storiti ; 
Rules,  at  his  will,  the  wind  that 

blows, 

And  regulates  the  winter's  snows. 
In  short,  within  the  narrow  range 
Of  his  own  acres,  makes  the 

change 

Of  seasons  through  the  varied  year. 

Alas !  the  gift  proves  all  too  dear ! 

For,  while   the   farmer  sees  with 

pain 
His  neighbors'  lands   are  rich    in 

grain, 

And  all  that  genial  Nature  yields 
In  thrifty  herds  and  fruitful  fields. 
His  own,  despite  his  anxious  toil, 
Proves,  at  the  best,  ungrateful  soil, 
That  brings  him  naught  but  dis 
content, 

Without  a  sou  to  pay  the  rent. 
What  could  he  do?  —  he  cannot 

pay ; 

And  so  the  man  was  fain  to  pray 
To  be  forgiven;  with  shame  con 
fessed 


230 


THE   TRAVELLER  AND   THE   TEMPEST. 


His  folly,  —  who  essayed  to  test 
The  Power  divine  that  rules  above, 
And  deemed  himself  more  wise 
than  Jove. 


THE  PROXY  SAINT. 

EACH  for    himself   must    do   his 

Master's  work, 

Or  at  his  peril  leave  it  all  un 
done; 
Witness  the  fate  of  one  who  sought 

to  shirk 
The    sanctuary's    service,     yet 

would  shun 
The  penalty.     A  man  of  earthly 

aims 
(So  runs  the  apologue),    whose 

pious  spouse 
Would    oft    remind    him    of    the 

Church's  claims, 
Still  answered  thus,  "  Go  thou 

and  pay  our  vows 
For  thee  and  me  "      Now,  when 

at  Peter's  gate 
The  twain  together  had  arrived 

at  last, 
He  let  the  woman  in;  then  to  her 

mate, 
Shutting  the  door,  "Thou  hast 

already  passed 
\±y proxy,"  said  the  Saint, — "just 

in  the  way 

That  thou  on  earth  wast  wont  to 
fast  and  pray.  " 


THE   TWO  WISHES. 

AN  EGYPTIAN   TALE. 

IN  Babylon,  some  ages  since, 
Death  took,  one  day,  the  reigning 
Prince ; 


And  so  —  't  is  needless  to  be  said  — 


The  heir-apparent  reigned  instead. 


(For  then  as  now  it  was  the  la\v 


Le  rui  eat  niort  !  "  —  so  "  Vice  le 


In  the  same  breath  the  courtiers 

sing, 
"  The  King  is   dead !  "  —  "  Long 

live  the  King!  ") 
The   son,    on   looking  round  to 

find 

What  wealth  the  sire  had  left  be 
hind, 

With  other  riches  —  more  indeed 
Than    e'en   a    king    could    fairly 

need  — 

A  secret  chest  discovered,  where 
Ills  sordid  sire,  with  anxious  care, 
His  golden  gains  had  safely  stored, 
Till  now  it  reached  a  mighty  hoard. 
"  Great  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  0,  may 

I  spend 

This  ample  treasure  thou  dost  lend 
In  charity,  and  may  I  live 
Till  not  a  coin  remains  to  give!  " 
The  Vizier,  smiling,  said,  ''Good 

Sire, 

Your  noble  aim  I  much  admire; 
But  list,  your  Majestv,  I  pray, 
To  what  1  heard  your  father  say, 
While  gazing  on  thK  very  chest, 
Then    scarce    a    quarter    full,    at 

best  : 

'  O  gricious  God  !  bo  p  thv  will,' 
He  cried,   'that  I  may  live  to  fill 
This  coder  full!     Grant,  1  implore, 
This    one     request,  —  I     ask     no 

more !  '  " 


THE  TRAVELLER  AND  THE 
TEMPEST. 

AN  ORIENTAL  TALE. 

A  MERCHANT,  —  so  the  tale  is  told 
In  Eastern  fable,  quaint  and  old,  — • 


PAST,   FUTURE,  AND  PRESENT. 


231 


Whom  urgent  business  called  to 

roam 
On    foot    in    parts    remote    from 

borne, 
Was  caught,   one  morning,    in   a 

shower 

Of  such  extremely  pelting  power, 
The  man  was  fairly  drenched  with 

rain; 
And,  though  no  saint,  for  once  was 

•    fain 

To  call  on  .love  in  earnest  prayer 
That  he,  the  pluvious  god!  would 

spare 

A  suilfi-ing  wretch  whose  shiver 
ing  form 

Was  like  to  perish  in  the  storm. 
But  still,  though  loud  his  prayers 

arise, 
They    fail    to   pierce    the   murky 

skies; 

And  added  vows  prove  all  in  vain 
To  stay  the  fury  of  the  rain. 
And  now,  since  Jove  no  succor 

lent, 

The  traveller  growls  his  discontent 
In  impious  scoffs  at  Heaven's  de 
crees. 
"The  gods,"  he  muttered,  ''sit  at 

ease, 
And  laugh   at   us   who   strive    to 

please 
Their    vanity     with    praise    and 

prayer, 

And  gifts  that  we  can  poorly  spare; 
Meanwhile  the  very  ills  they  send 
They  lack  the  power  —  or  wdl  —  to 

mend !  " 
With  this,  he  sought  a  neighboring 

wood, 

To  shun  the  storm  as  best  he  could; 
When  lo!  a  robber  issuing  thence, 
'I  he  man,  unarmed  for  self-defence, 
With  flying  footsteps  sought  again 
The  fury  of  the  open  rain,  — 
A  friendly  barrier  now,  perchance, 
Against  the  robber's  dread  ad 
vance. 


And  so  it  proved,  yet,  as  he  fled, 
The  other,  pointing  at  his  head 
A  well-aimed  arrow,  would  have 

slain 

The  fugitive,  had  not  the  rain 
The  moistened   bowstring  so  un 
nerved, 

The  dart  fell  short,  and  only  served 
The  more  to  speed  the  traveller's 

flight, 

Till  he  was  safely  out  of  sight. 
Now,  when  the  storm  was  spent 

at  last, 

And  all  the  pain  and  peril  past, 
The  traveller,  resting  for  a  space 
Where  sunshine  made  a  pleasant 

place 
His  limbs  to  warm,  his  cloak  to 

dry, 
Heard,  thundering  from  the  azure 

sky, 

A  solemn  voice,  whose  words  pro 
claim 
The  source  celestial  whence  they 

came: 

"  Consider  well,  0  mortal  man ! 
How  wise  is  Heaven's  benignant 

plan; 
When  skies  are  black  and  tempests 

lower, 
Mark  not   alone  the   Thunderer's 

power, 

But  in  his  ways,  at  every  turn, 
His  kindly  providence  discern!  " 


PAST,  FUTURE,  AND  PEES* 
ENT. 


AN  ALLEGORY. 


ONCE  on  a  time  —  we  need  not  care 
Too  nicely  for  the  when  and  where — 
Three   princes,   who,  since   Time 
had  birth, 


232 


PAST,   FUTURE,  AND  PRESENT. 


Have    ruled    three    provinces    on 

earth, 

VVhate'er  the  scope  of  human  aims, 
(Past,  Future,  Present,  were  their 

names, ) 

Met  on  a  pleasant  summer's  day, 
And  talking  in  a  friendly  way 
Of  topics  such  as  neighbors  use 
For    mere     companionship, — the 

news, 

The  weather,  or  mayhap  the  price 
Of  bullion  since  the  last  advice 
Touching  the  royal  health,  —  began 
At  length  to  speculate  on  Man 
And  his  affairs;  in  brief,  on  all 
Such  subtile  themes  as,  since  the 

Fall, 

Have  puzzled  moralists;  and  then 
From  such  deep  talk  concerning 

men 

As  ranged  from  Providence  to  Fate, 
They  fell  at  last  to  sharp  debate 
About  themselves,  as,  who  might  be 
In  power  the  greatest  of  the  three  V 


"I,"  said  the  Past,  " must  be  the 

one, 
Since  all  things  great  were  surely 

done 
By  me,  — there  '?  naught  in  all  the 

land 

But  hears  the  impress  of  my  hand !" 
"True,"  said  the  Future;    "yet 

reflect, 

Your  doings  claim  but  small  respect 
Compared    with  mine,  —  since  all 

to  be 
Henceforward    will    be   ruled    by 

me!  " 
"Nay,"  said  the  Present,  "cease 

your  claims; 
What   are   ye  both   but  sounding 

names  V 
All  things   achieved   beneath   the 

sun, 

And  all  on  earth  that  shall  be  done, 
Are  mine  alone!     O'er  great  and 

small 
The  Present  still  is  king  of  all!  " 


SATIRES 


SATIRES. 


PROGRESS. 

A   SATIRE. 

IN  this,  our  happy  and  "  progres 
sive"  sure, 

When  all  alike  ambitious  cares  en 
gage  ; 

When  beardless  boys  to  sudden 
sages  grow, 

And  "Miss"  her  nurse  abandons 
for  a  beau; 

When  for  their  dogmas  Non-Re- 
sistants  fight, 

When  dunces  lecture,  and  when 
dandies  write; 

When  matrons,  seized  with  ora 
torio  pangs, 

Give  happy  birth  to  masculine 
harangues, 

And  spinsters,  trembling  for  the 
nation's  fate. 

Neglect  their  stockings  to  preserve 
the  state; 

When  critic  -  wits  their  brazen 
lustre  shed 

On  golden  authors  whom  they 
never  read, 

With  parrot  praise  of  "Roman 
grandeur"  speak, 

And  in  bad  English  eulogize  the 
Greek;  — 

When  facts  like  these  no  reprehen 
sion  bring, 


May  not,  uncensured,  an  Attorney 

sing? 
In  sooth  he  may ;  and  though  "  un-. 

born  "  to  climb 
Parnassus'  heights,  and  "  build  the 

lofty  rhyme," 
Though    Klaccus   fret,  and  warn- 

ingly  advise 
That  "middling  verses  gods  and 

men  despise," 
Yet  will  he  sing,  to  Yankee  license 

true, 
In  spite  of  Horace  and  "  Minerva  " 

too! 


My  theme  is  Progress,  — never- 
tiring  theme 
Of   prosing    dulness,    and    poetic 

dream; 
Beloved  of    Optimists,    who    still 

protest 
Whatever  happens,  happens  for  the 

best; 
Who  prate  of  "evil"  as  a  thing 

unknown, 

A  fancied  color,  or  a  seeming  tone, 
A  vaguo  chimera  cherished  by  the 

dull, 
The  empty  product  of  an  emptier 

skull. 
Expert  logicians  they  !  —  to  show 

at  will, 
By  ill  philosophy,  that  naught  is  ill ! 


236 


PROGRESS. 


Should  some  sly  rogue,  the  city's 

constant  curse, 
Deplete  your  pocket  and  relieve 

your  purse, 
Or  if,  approaching  with  ill-omened 

tread, 
Some  bolder  burglar  break  your 

house  and  head, 
Hold,  friend,   thy  rage!    nay,  let 

the  rascal  flee ; 
No  evil  has  been  done  the  world, 

or  thee: 
Here  comes  Philosophy  will  make 

it  plain 

Thy  seeming  loss  is  universal  gain ! 
"  Thy   heap  of  gold  was   clearly 

grown  too  great,  — 
'T  were  best  the  poor  should  share 

thy  large  estate ; 
While    misers    gather,    that    the 

knaves  should  steal, 
Is  most  conducive  to  the  general 

weal ; 
Thus  thieves  the  wrongs  of  avarice 

efface, 
And  stand  the  friends  and  stewards 

of  the  race; 
Thus  every  moral  ill  but  serves,  in 

fact, 

Some  other  equal  ill  to  counteract  " 
Sublime  Philosophv!  —  benignant 

light ! 
Which  sees  in  every  pair  of  wrongs, 

a  right; 

Which  finds  no  evil  or  in  sin  or  pain, 
And   proves   that  decalogues   are 

writ  in  vain ! 

Hail,   mighty  Progress!  loftiest 

we  find 
Thy  stalking  strides  in  science  of 

the  mind. 
What  boots  it  now  that  Locke  was 

learned  and  wise  ? 
What  boots  it  now  that  men  have 

ears  and  eyes  ? 
"  Pvire  Reason  "  in  their  stead  now 

hears  and  sees, 


And  walks  apart  in  stately  scorn 
of  these; 

Laughs  at  "experience,"  spurns 
"  induction  "  hence, 

Scouting  "  the  senses,"  and  trans 
cending  sense 

No  more  shall  flippant  ignorance 
inquire, 

"  If  German  breasts  may  feel 
poetic  fire," 

Nor  German  dnlness  write  ten 
folios  full, 

To  show,  for  onc-e.  that  Dutchmen 
are  not  duli.9 

For  here  Philosophy,  acute,  re 
fined, 

Sings  all  the  marvels  of  the  human 
mind 

In  strains  so  passing  "dainty 
sweet  "  to  hear, 

That  e'en  the  nursery  turns  a 
ravished  ear! 

Here  Wit  and  Fancy  in  scholastic 
bowers 

Twine  beauteous  wreaths  of  meta- 
physic  flowers; 

Here  Speculation  pours  her  daz 
zling  light, 

Here  grand  Invention  wings  a  dar 
ing  flight, 

And  soars  ambitious  to  the  lofty 
moon, 

Whence,  haply,  freighted  with 
some  precious  boon, 

Some  old  "  Philosophy  "  in  fog  in 
cased, 

Or  new  "  Religion  "  for  the  chang 
ing  taste, 

She  straight  descends  to  Learning's 
blest  abodes, 

Just  simultaneous  with  the  Paris 
modes ! 

Here  Plato's  dogmas  eloquently 
speak, 

Not  as  of  vore.  in  grand  and  grace 
ful 'Greek, 

But  (quite  beyond  the  dreaming 
sage's  hope 


PROGRESS. 


237 


Of    future    glory    in    his   fancy's 

scope ), 
Translated  down,  as  by  some  wiz- 

anl touch, 
Find  '"  immortality  "  in  good  high 

Dutch! 

Happv   the  youth,    in   this   our 

golden  age, 
Condemned   no  more   to   con   the 

prosy  page 
Of  Locke   and   Bacon,  antiquated 

fools, 
Now    justly    banished    from    our 

moral  schools. 
By    easier     modes     philosophy    is 

taught, 

Than  through  the  medium  of  labo 
rious  thought. 

Imagination  kindly  serves  instead, 
And  saves  the  pupil  many  an  ach 
ing  head. 
Room     for     the     sages! — hither 

comes  a  throng 

Of  blooming  1'latos  trippingly  along. 
In  dress  ho\v  fitted  to  beguile  the 

fair! 
What  intellectual,  stately  heads  — 

of  hair! 
Hark  to  the  Oracle  !  —  to  Wisdom's 

tone 
Breathed  in  a  fragrant  zephyr  of 

Cologne. 
That  boy  in  gloves,  the  leader  of 

the  van, 
Talks  of   the    "outer"  and    the 

"  inner  man." 
Aixl  knits  his  girlish  brow  in  stout 

resolve 
Some  mountain-sized   "idea"   to 

"evolve." 

Delusive  toil!  —  thus  in   their  in 
fant  days, 
When  children  mimic  manly  deeds 

in  plays, 
Long  will  they  sit,  and  eager  "  bob 

for  whale  " 
Within  the  ocean  of  a  water-pail! 


The  next,  whose  looks  unluckily 
reveal 

The  ears  portentous  that  his  locks 
conceal, 

Prates  of  the  "  orbs  "  with  such  a 
knowing  frown, 

You  deem  he  puffs  some  litho 
graphic  town 

In  Western  wilds,  where  yet  un 
broken  ranks 

Of  thrifty  beavers  build  unchar- 
tered  "  banks." 

And  prowling  panthers  occupy  the 
lots 

Adorned  with  churches  on  the 
paper  plots ! 

But  ah!  what  suffering  harp  is 

this  we  hear? 
What  jarrinor  sounds   invade   the 

wounded  ear? 
Who  o'er  the  lyre  a  hand  spasmodic 

flings. 
And  grinds  harsh  discord  from  the 

tortured  strings? 
The  Sacred   Muses,  at  the  sound 

dismayed. 
Retreat  disordered  to  their  native 

shade 
And  Phoabus  hastens  to  his  high 

abode, 
And  Orpheus  frowns  to  hear  an 

"  Orphic  ode  "  ! 

"  Talk  not,  ye  jockeys,  of  the 

wondrous  speed 
That  marks  your  Northern  or  your 

Southern  steed; 
See  Progress  fly  o'er  Education's 

course ! 
Not  far-famed  Derby  owns  a  fleeter 

horse ! 
On    rare    Improvement's    "short 

and  easy  "  road, 
How  swift  her  flight  to  Learning's 

blest  abode ! 
In  other  Times  —  't  was  many  years 


238 


PROGRESS. 


The  scholar's  course  was  toilsome, 

rough,  and  slow, 
The  fair  Humanities  were  sought 

in  tears, 
And  came,  the  trophy  of  laborious 

years. 
Now  Learning's  shrine  each   idle 

youth  may  seek, 
And,  spending  there  a  shilling  and 

a  week, 
( At  lightest  cost  of  study,  cash,  and 

lungs,) 
Come  back,  like  Rumor,   with   a 

hundred  tongues ! 

What  boots  such  progress,  when 
the  golden  load 

From  heedless  haste  is  lost  upon 
the  road  ? 

When  each  great  science,  to  the 
student's  pace, 

Stands  like  the  wicket  in  a  hurdle 
race, 

Which  to  o'erleap  is  all  the  courser's 
mind, 

And  all  his  glorv  that  'tis  left  be 
hind! 

Nor  less,  0  Progress,  are  thy  new 
est  rules 

Enforced  and  honored  in  the 
"  Ladies'  School"; 

Where  Education,  in  its  nobler 
sense, 

Gives  place  to  Learning's  shallow 
est  pretence; 

Where  hapless  maids,  in  spite  of 
wish  or  taste, 

On  vain  "  accomplishments  "  their 
moments  waste; 

By  cruel  parents  here  condemned 
to  wrench 

Their  tender  throats  in  mispro 
nouncing  French : 

Here  doomed  to  force,  by  unrelent 
ing  knocks, 

Reluctant  music  from  a  tortured 
box; 


Here  taught,  in  inky  shades  and 

rigid  lines, 

To    perpetrate    equivocal      "  de 
signs  "; 
"  Drawings  "  that  prove  their  title 

plainly  true, 
By  showing  nature  "  drawn,"  and 

"  quartered"  too  ! 
In  ancient   times,  I  've  heard  my 

grandam  tell, 
Young  maids  were  taught  to  read, 

and  write,  and  spell; 
(Neglected  arts!    once  learned  by 

rigid  rules, 

As  prime  essentials  in  the  "  com 
mon  schools  " ;) 

Well  taught  beside  in  many  a  use 
ful  art 
To  mend  the  manners  and  improve 

the  heart; 
Nor  yet  unskilled  to  turn  the  busy 

wheel. 
To  ply  the  shuttle,  and  to  twirl  the 

*  reel, 
Could  thrifty  tasks  with  cheerful 

grace  pursue, 
Themselves  "  accomplished,"  and 

their  duties  too 
Of  tongues,  each  maiden  had  but 

one,  't  is  said, 
(Enough,  'twas  thought,  to  serve' 

a  lady's  head,) 
But  that  was  English,  — great  and 

glorious  tongue 
That  Chatham  spoke,  and  Milton, 

Shakespeare,  sung! 
Let  thoughts   too  idle  to  be   fitly 

dressed  4 

In  sturdy  Saxon  be  in  French  ex-  ' 

pressed ; 
Let  lovers  breathe  Italian,  —  like, 

in  sooth, 
Its  singers,  soft,  emasculate,  and 

smooth ; 
But   for  a  tongue    whose    ample 

powers  embrace 
Beauty   and  force,  sublimity  and 

grace, 


PROGRESS. 


239 


Ornate  or  plain,  harmonious,  yet 

strong, 
And   formed  alike   for  eloquence 

and  song, 
Give    me    the    English,  —  aptest 

tongue  to  paint 

A  sage  or  dunce,  a  villain  or  a  saint, 
To  spur  the  slothful,  counsel  the 

distressed, 
To  lash  the  oppressor,  and  to  soothe 

the  oppressed, 
To   lend   fantastic    Humor    freest 

scope 

To  marshal  all  his  laughter-mov 
ing  troop, 
Give    I'athos   power,    and   Fancy 

lightest  wings, 
And  Wit  his  merriest  whims  and 

keenest  stings ! 

The  march  of  1'rogress  let  the 

Muse  explore 

In  pseudo-science  and  empiric  lore. 
O  sacred  Science!  how  art  them 

profaned, 
When  shallow  quacks  and  vagrants, 

unrestrained, 
Flaunt  in  thy  robes,  and  vagabonds 

are  known 
To  brawl  thy  name,    who    never 

wrote  their  own ; 
When  crazy  theorists  their  addled 

schemes 
(Unseemly  product  of  dyspeptic 

dreams) 
Impute  to  thee !  —  as  courtesans  of 

yore 
Their  spurious    bantlings    left  at 

Mars' s  door; 

When  each  projector  of  apatentpill, 
Or  happy  founder  of  a  coffee-mill, 
Invokes  "thine  aid  to  celebrate  his 

wares, 
And  crown  with  gold  his  philan- 

throphic  cares; 

Thus  Islam's  hawkers  piously  pro 
claim 
Thsir    figs    and    pippins    in     the 

Pronhet's  name ! 


Some  sage  Physician,  studious 
to  advance 

The  art  of  healing,  and  its  praise 
enhance, 

By  observation  "  scientific  "  finds 

(What  else  were  hidden  from  in 
ferior  minds) 

That  Water 's  useful  in  a  thousand 
ways, 

To  cherish  health,  and  lengthen 
out  our  days; 

A  mighty  solvent  in  its  simple 
scope, 

And  quite  "  specific  "  with  Castil- 
ian  soap ! 

The  doctor's  labors  let  the  thought 
less  scorn, 

See!  a  new  "science"  to  the 
world  is  born ; 

"Disease  is  dirt!  all  pain  the 
patient  feels 

Is  but  the  soiling  of  the  vital 
wheels ; 

To  wash  away  all  particles  impure, 

And  cleanse  the  system,  plainly  is 
to  cure!  " 

Thus  shouts  the  doctor,  eloquent, 
and  proud 

To  teach  his  "science"  to  the 
gaping  crowd; 

Like  "  Father  Mathew,"  eager  to 
allure 

Afflicted  mortals  to  his  "  water- 
cure  " ! 


'T  is  thus  that  modern  "sci 
ences"  are  made, 

By  bold  assumption,  puffing,  and 
parade. 

Take  three  stale  "truths";  a 
dozen  "facts,"  assumed; 

Two  known  "effects,"  and  fifty 
more  presumed ; 

"  Affinities  "  a  score,  to  sense  un 
known, 

And,  just  as  "  lucus,  non  lucendo  " 
shown, 


240 


PROGRESS. 


Add  but  a  name  of  pompous  Anglo- 
Greek. 

And  only  not  impossible  to  speak, 

The  work  is  done;  a  "science" 
stands  confest, 

And  countless  welcomes  greet  the 
queenly  guest. 

Inclosestgirdle,OreluctantMuse, 

In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest- 
stepping  shoes,10 

Prepare  to  follow  Fashion's  gay 
advance, 

And  thread  the  mazes  of  her  mot 
ley  dance : 

And,  marking  well  each  momen 
tary  hue, 

And  transient  form,  that  meets  the 
wondering  view, 

In  kindred  colors,  gentle  Muse, 
essay 

Her  Protean  phases  fitly  to  portra y. 

To-day,  she  slowly  drags  a  cum 
brous  trail, 

And  "  Ton  "rejoices  in  its  length  of 
tail ; 

To-morrow,  changing  her  capri 
cious  sport, 

She  trims  herflounces just  as  much 
too  short ; 

To-day,  right  jauntily,  a  hat  she 
wears 

That  scarce  affords  a  shelter  to 
her  ears ; 

To-morrow,  haply,  searching  long 
in  vain, 

You  spy  her  features  down  a  Leg 
horn  lane; 

To-day,  she  glides  along  with 
queenly  grace, 

To-morrow,  ambles  in  a  mincing 
pace. 

To-day,  erect,  she  loves  a  martial 
air, 

And  envious  train-bands  emulate 
the  fair; 

To-morrow,  changing  as  her  whim 
may  serve, 


"She   stoops   to   conquer"    in    a 

"  Grecian  curve."11 
To  day,    with    careful   negligence 

arrayed 
In  scanty  folds,  of  woven  zephyrs 

made, 
She  moves  like  Dian  in  her  woody 

bowers, 
Or   Flora  floating   o'er  a  bed   of 

flowers ; 
To-morrow,  laden   with  a  motley 

freight, 
Of  startling  bulk  and  formidable 

weight, 
She   waddles   forth,  ambitious   to 

amaze 
The  vulgar  crowd,  who  giggle  as 

they  gaze. 

Despotic  Fashion!  potent  is  her 


Whom  half  the  world  full  loyally 

obey ; 
Kings  bow  submissive  to  her  stem 

decrees, 
And  proud    Republics  bend  their 

necks  and  knees; 
Where'er  we  turn  the  attentive  eye, 

is  seen 
The   worshipped   presence   of  the 

modish  queen; 
In    Dress,    Philosophy,    Religion, 

Art, 
Whate'er  employs    the    head,  or 

hand,  or  heart. 

Is  some  fine  lady  quite  o'ercome 

with  woes, 
From  an  unyielding  pimple  on  her 

nose, 
Some  unaccustomed  "  buzzing  in 

her  ears," 

Or  other  marvel  to  alarm  her  fears  ? 
Fashion,  with  skill  and  judgment 

ever  nice, 
At    once    advises    ' '  medical    ad- 


PROGRESS. 


241 


Then  names  her  doctor,  who,  ar 
rived  in  haste, 

Proceeds  accordant  with  the  laws 
of  taste. 

If  real  ills  afflict  the  modish  dame, 

Her  blind  idolatry  is  still  the  same ; 

Less  grievous  far,  she  deems  it,  to 
endure 

Genteel  malpractice,  than  a  vulgar 
"cure. 

If,  spite  of  gilded  pills  and  golden 
fees, 

Her  dear  dyspepsia  grows  a  dire 
disease, 

And  Doctor  Dapper  proves  a  shal 
low  rogue, 

The  world  must  own  that  both 
were  much  ir.  vogue. 


What  impious  mockery,  when, 
with  soulless  art, 

Fashion,  intrusive,  seeks   to  rule 
the  heart ! 

Directs  how  grief  may  tastefully 
be  borne; 

Instructs   Bereavement   just  how 
long  to  mourn ; 

Shows  Sorrow  how  by  nice  degrees 
to  fade, 

And  marks  its  measure  in  a  rib 
bon's  shade! 

More  impious  still,  when,  through 
her  wanton  laws, 

She   desecrates   Religion's   sacred 
cause; 

Shows  how  '•  the  narrow  ro^d  "  is 
easiest  trod, 

And  how,  geuteelest,  worms  may 
worship  God ; 

How  sacred  rites  may  hear  a  world 
ly  grace. 

Arid  self-abasement  wear  a  haugh 
ty  face ; 

How  sinners,  long  in  Folly's  mazes 
whirled. 

VVith  pomp  and  splendor  may  il  re 
nounce  the  world  "  ; 
16 


How,  "  with  all  saints  hereafter  to 

appear,'1 
Yet  quite  escape  the  vulgar  portion 

here! 


Imperial  Fashion !  her  impartial 
care 

Things  most  momentous,  and  most 
trivial,  share. 

Xow  crushing  conscience  (her  in- 
vet'rate  foe), 

And  now  a  waist,  and  now,  per 
chance,  a  toe. 

At  once  for  pistols  and  "  the  Pol 
ka  "  votes, 

And  shapes  alike  our  characters 
and  coats. 

The  gravest  question  which  the 
world  divides. 

And  lightest  riddle,  in  a  breath  de 
cides: 

"  If  wrong  may  not,  by  circum 
stance,  be  right,"  — 

"  If  black  cravats  be  more  genteel 
than  white,"  — 

"  If  by  her  '  bishop,'  or  her  'grace,' 
alone, 

A  genuine  lady,  or  a  church,  is 
known  "  ;  — 

Problems  like  these  she  solves  with 
graceful  air, 

At  once  a  casuist  and  a  connois 
seur. 


Does  some  sleek  knave,  whom 
magic  money-bags 

Have  raised  above  his  fellow- 
knaves  in  rags. 

Some  willing  minion  of  unblushing 
Vice, 

Who  boasts  that  "  Virtue  ever  has 
her  price,"  — 

Does  he,  unpitying,  blast  thy  sis 
ter's  fame, 

Or  doom  thy  daughter  to  undying 
shame, 


242 


PROGRESS. 


To  bow  her  head  beneath  the  eye 

of  scorn, 

And  droop  and  wither  in  her  maid 
en  morn  V 
Fashion    "regrets,"    declares  '"t 

was  very  wrong," 
And,    quite    dejected,    hums    an 

opera  song. 
Impartial  friend,  your  cause  toher 

appealed, 
Yourself  and  foe  she  summons  to 

the  field, 
Where   Honor  carefully  the  case 

observes, 
And  nicely  weighs  it  in  a  scale  of 

nerves. 

Despotic  rite !  whose  fierce,  vindic 
tive  reign 
Boasts,    unrebuked,   its   countless 

victims  slain, 
While  Christian  rulers,  recreant, 

support 
The  pagan  honors  of  thy  bloody 

court, 
And     "Freedom's     champions" 

spurn  their  hallowed  trust, 
Kneel  at  thy  nod,  and  basely  lick 

the  dust. 


Degraded     Congress !    once  the 

honored  scene 
Of  patriot  deeds;  where  men  of 

solemn  mien, 
In  virtue  strong,  in  understanding 

clear. 
Earnest,    though    courteous,    and, 

though  smooth,  sincere, 
To  gravest  counsels  lent  the  teem 
ing  hours, 
And  gave   their  country  all  their 

mighty  powers. 
But  times   are   changed,    a  rude, 

degenerate  race 
Usurp   the   seats,  and  shame  the 

sacred  place. 
Here    plotting    demagogues    with 

zeal  defend 


The  "people's  rights,"  —  to  gain 
some  private  end. 

Here  Southern  youths,  on  Folly's 
surges  tost, 

Their  fathers'  wisdom  eloquently 
boast. 

(So  dowerless  spinsters  proudly 
number  o'er 

The  costly  jewels  that  their  gran- 
dams  wore.) 

Here  would-be  Tullys  pompously 
parade 

Their  tumid  tropes  for  simple 
"  Buncombe  "  made,12 

Full  on  the  chair  the  chilling  tor 
rent  shower, 

And  work  their  word  -  pumps 
through  the  allotted  hour. 

Deluded  "Buncombe!"  while, 
with  honest  praise, 

She  notes  each  grand  and  patriotic 
phrase, 

And,  much  rejoicing  in  her  hope 
ful  son, 

Deems  all  her  own  the  laurels  he 
has  won, 

She  little  dreams  how  brother 
members  fled, 

And  left  the  house  as  vacant  as  his 
head ! 

Here  rural  Chathams,  eager  to  at 
test 

The  "  growing  greatness  of  the. 
mighty  West," 

To  make  the  plainest  proposition 
clear. 

Crack  Priscian's  head,  and  'Mr. 
Speaker's  ear^ 

Then,  closing  up  in  one  terrific 
shout, 

Pour  all  their  "  wild-cats  "  furious 
ly  out ! 

Here  lawless  boors  with  ruffian 
bullies  vie, 

Who  last  shall  give  the  rude,  in 
sulting  "lie,'' 

While  ''Order!  order!"  loud  the 
chairman  calls, 


PROGRESS. 


243 


And  echoing  "Order!"  every 
member  bawls; 

Till  rising  high  in  rancorous  debate, 

And  higher  still  in  fierce  enven 
omed  hate,  13 

Retorted  blows  the  scene  of  riot 
crown, 

And  big  Lycurgus  knocks  the 
lesser  down ! 


Ye    honest  dames    in   frequent 

proverbs  named, 
For  finest  fish  and  foulest  English 

famed, 
Whose    matchless    tongues,  't    is 

said,  were  never  heard 
To  speak  a  flattering  or  a  feeble 

wonl,  — 
Here  all  your  choice  invective  ye 

might  urge 
Our    lawless    Solons    fittingly    to 

scourge; 
Here,  in  congenial  company,  might 

rail 

Till,  quite  worn  out,  your  creak 
ing  voices  fail,  — 
Unless,  indeed,  for  once  compelled 

to  yield 
In    wordy   strife,    ye    vanquished 

quit  the  field ! 


Hail,  Social  Progress !  each  new 

moon  is  rife 
With    some   new  theory  of  social 

life, 

Some    matchless    scheme     ingen 
iously  designed 
From  half  their  miseries   to   free 

mankind; 
On     human    wrongs     triumphant 

war  to  wage, 
And  bring  anew  the  glorious  golden 

ago. 

"  Association"  is  the  magic  word 
From  many  a  social  "  priest  and 

prophet "  heard, 


"Attractive  Labor"  is  the  angel 
given, 

To  render  earth  a  sublunary 
Heaven ! 

"Attractive  Labor!"  ring  the 
changes  round, 

And  labor  grows  attractive  in  the 
sound ; 

And  many  a  youthful  mind,  where 
haply  lurk 

Unwelcomed  fancies  at  the  name  of 
"  work," 

Sees  pleasant  pastime  in  its  long 
ing  view 

Of  "toil  made  easy"  and  "at 
tractive  "  too, 

And,  fancy-rapt,  with  joyful  ar 
dor,  turns 

Delightful  grindstones  and  seduc 
tive  churns! 

"Men  are  not  bad,"  these  social 
sages  preach; 

"  Men  are  not  what  their  actions 
seem  to  teach ; 

No  moral  ill  is  natural  or  fixed,  — 

Men  only  err  by  being  badly 
mixed!  " 

To  them  the  world  a  huge  plum- 
pudding  seem«, 

Made  up  of  richest  viands,  fruits, 
and  creams, 

Which  of  all  choice  ingredients 
partook, 

And  then  was  ruined  by  a  blun 
dering  cook ! 

Inventive  France!  what  wonder 
working  schemes 

Astound  the  world  whene'er  a 
Frenchman  dreams. 

What  fine-spun  theories,  —  ingen 
ious,  new, 

Sublime,  stupendous,  everything 
but  true! 

One  little  favor,  0  "Imperial 
France  "  ! 

Still  teach  the  world  to  cook,  to 
dress,  to  dance ; 


244 


PROGRESS. 


Let,  if  thou   wilt,    thy  boots   and 

barbers  roam, 
But    keep    thy    morals    and    thy 

creeds  at  home ! 


0  might  the  Muse  prolong  her 

flowing  rhyme, 

(Too  closely  cramped  by  unrelent 
ing  Time, 
Whose    dreadful    scythe    swings 

heedlessly  along, 
And,  missing  speeches,  clips  the 

thread  of  song, ) 
How  would  she   strive,   in  fitting 

verse,  to  sing 
The    wondrous    Progress    of   the 

Printing  King! 
Bibles  and  Novels,  Treatises  and 

Songs, 

Lectures  on  "Rights,"  and  Stric 
tures  upon  Wrongs; 
Verse  in  all  metres,  Travels  in  all 

climes, 
Rhymes  without  reason,   Sonnets 

without  rhymes; 
"  Translations  from  the  French," 

so  vilely  done, 
The    wheat    escaping    leaves   the 

chaff'  alone ; 
Memoirs,    where   dunces   sturdily 

essay 
To  cheat  Oblivion  of  her  certain 

prey ; 
Critiques,    where   pedants   vaunt- 

ingly  expose 
Unlicensed    verses,     in     unlawful 

prose ; 
Lampoons,  whose  authors  strive  in 

vain  to  throw 
Their    headless    arrows    from    a 

nerveless  bow; 
Poems   by  youths,   who,  crossing 

Nature's  will, 
Harangue  the  landscape  they  were 

born  to  till; 
Huge  tomes  of  Law,  that  lead  by 

rugged  routes 


Through  ancient  dogmas  down  tt> 

modern  doubts; 

Where    Judges    oft,     with    well- 
affected  ease, 

Give   learned   reasons  for  absurd 
decrees. 

Or,  more  ingenious  still,  contrive 
to  found 

Some  just   decision  on  fallacious 
ground, 

Or  blink  the  point,  and,  haply,  in 
its  place, 

Moot  and  decide  some  hypothetic 
case; 

Smart  Epigrams,  all  sadly  out  ol 
joint, 

And  pointless,  —  save  the  "  excla 
mation  point," 

Which  stands  in  state,  with  vacant 
wonder  fraught, 

The  pompous  tombstone  of  some 
pauper  thought, 

Ingenious  systems  based  on  doubt 
ful  facts, 

"  Tracts  for  the  Times,"  ana  most 
untimely  tracts; 

Polemic  Pamphlets.  Literary  Toys, 

And  Easy  Lessons  for  uneasy  boys ; 

Hebdomadal  Gazettes,  and  Daily 
News, 

Gay    Magazines,    and    Quarterly 
Reviews:  — 

Small  portion  these,  of  all  the  vast 
array 

Of  darkened  leaves  that  cloud  each 
passing  day, 

And  pour  their  tide  unceasingly 
along, 

A  gathering,  swellin*,  overwhelm 
ing  throng! 


Cease,  0  my  Muse,  nor,  indis 
creet,  prolong 

To  epic  length  thy  unambitious 
song. 

Good  friends,  be  gentle  to  a  maiden 
Muse, 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


245 


Her  errors  Canton,  and  her  faults 

excuse. 
Not    uninvited    to    her    task    she 

came,14 
To  sue  for  favor,  not  to  seek  for 

fame. 
Be  this,  at  least,  her  just  though 

humble  praise: 

No  stale  excuses  heralded  her  lays, 
No   singer's  trick, — conveniently 

to  bring 
A  sudden  cough,  when  importuned 

to  sing;10 
Xo  deprecating  phrases,  learned  by 

rote, — 
"She'd  quite  forgot,"  or  "never 

knew  a  note,"  — 
But  to  her  task,  with  ready  zeal, 

addressed 
Her  earnest  care,  and  aimed  to  do 

her  best; 
Strove  to  lie  just  in  each  satiric 

word, 
To  doubtful  wit  undoubted  truth 

preferred, 
To  please  and   profit  equally  has 

aimed, 
Nor  been    ill-natured  even   when 

she  blamed. 


THE  MONEY-KING. 

A  POEM  DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE 
PHI  liETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY  OF 
YALE  COLLEGE,  1854. 

As  landsmen,  sitting  in  luxurious 
ease, 

Talk  of  the  dangers  of  the  stormy 
seas; 

As  fireside  travellers,  with  porten 
tous  mien, 


[  Tell  tales  of  countries  they  have 
never  seen ; 

As  parlor-soldiers,  graced  with 
fancy-scars, 

Rehearse  their  bravery  in  im 
agined  wars; 

As  arrant  dunces  have  been  known 
to  sit 

In  grave  discourse  of  wisdom  and 
of  wit; 

As  paupers,  gathered  in  congenial 
flocks, 

Babble  of  banks,  insurances,  and 
stocks; 

As  each  is  oftenest  eloquent  of 
what 

He  hates  or  covets,  but  possesses 
not;  — 

As  cowards  talk  of  pluck ;  misers, 
of  waste ; 

Scoundrels,  of  honor;  country 
clowns,  of  taste;  — 

I  sing  of  MOSEY  !  —  no  ignoble 
theme, 

But  loftier  far  than'  poetasters 
dream, 

Whose  fancies,  soaring  to  their 
native  moon, 

Rise  like  a  bubble  or  a  gay  bal 
loon, 

Whose  orb  aspiring  takes  a  heaven 
ward  flight, 

Just  in  proportion  as  it 's  thin  and 
light! 

Kings    must    have    Poets.     From 

the  earliest  times, 
Monarchs  have  loved  celebrity  in 

rhymes ; 
From  good  King  Robert,  who,  in 

Petrarch's  days, 
Taught  to  mankind  the  proper  use 

of  bays, 
And,  singling  out   the  prince  of 

Sonneteers, 
Twined  wreaths   of  laurel  round 

his  blushing  ears; 


246 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Down  to  the  Qneen,  who,  to  her 
chosen  bard, 

In  annual  token  of  her  kind  re 
gard, 

Sends  not  alone  the  old  poetic 
greens, 

But,  like  a  woman  and  the  best  of 
queens, 

Adds  to  the  leaves,  to  keep  them 
fresh  and  fine, 

The  wholesome  moisture  of  a  pipe 
of  wine !  — 

So  may  her  minstrel,  crowned  with 
royal  bays, 

Alternate  praise  her  pipe  and  pipe 
her  praise ! 

E'en  let  him  chant  his  smooth,  eu 
phonious  lays: 

A  loftier  theme  my  humbler  Muse 
essays ; 

A  mightier  monarch  be  it  hers  to 
sing, 

And  claim  her  laurel  from  the 
Money-King! 

Great   was    lung  Alfred;    and  if 

history  state 
His  actions  truly,  good  as  well  as 

great. 
Great  was  the  Norman ;  he  whose 

martial  hordes 
Taught  law  and  order  to  the  Saxon 

lords, 

With   gentler  thoughts  their  rug 
ged  minds  imbued, 
And  raised  the  nation   whom   he 

first  subdued. 
Great  was  King  Bess  !  —  I  see  the 

critic  smile, 
As  though  the  Muse  mistook  her 

proper  style ; 
But  to  her  purpose  shs  will  stoutly 

cling, 
The  royal  maid  was  "every  inch 

a  King" ! 
Great    was     Napoleon,  —  and     I 

would  that  fate 


Might  prove  his  name  ake-nephew 

half  as  great ; 
Meanwhile  this  hint  I  venture  to 

advance: — 
What     Franco    admires    is    good 

enough  for  France! 
Grfflt  princes  were  they  all;  but 

greater  far 
Than    English    King,    or    mighty 

Russian  Czar, 
Or   Pope    of   Rome,    or    haughty 

Queen  of  Spain, 

Baron  of  Germany,  or  Royal  Dane, 
Or   Gallic    Emperor,    or    Persian 

Khan, 

Or  any  other  merely  mortal  man, 
Is   the    great    monarch    that   my 

Muse  would  sing, 

That  mighty  potentate,  the  Money- 
King! 
His    kingdom    vast    extends  o'er 

every  land. 
And  nations  bow  before  his  high 

command, 
The    weakest    tremble,     and    his 

power  obey, 
The  strongest  honor,  and  confess 

his  sway. 
He   rules   the   Rulers!  —  e'en  the 

tyrant  Czar 
Asks  his  permission  ere  he  goes  to 

war; 
The  Turk,  suhmisMve  to  his  royal 

might, 
Bv  his  decree  tas  gracious  leave 

to  fight : 
Whilst  e'en  Britannia  makes  her 

humblest  bow 
Before  her  Barings,  not  her  Barons 

now, 
Or  on  the   Rothschild  suppliantlv 

calls 
(Her  affluent   "uncle"  with   the 

golden  balls), 
Begs  of  the  Jew  that  he  will  kindly 

spare 
Enough  to  put  her  trident  in  re- 

cair, 


THE  M  ONE  Y-K1N  G. 


247 


And   pawn?  her  diamonds,  while 

she  humbly  craves 
The     Money- King' s     consent     to 

"  rule  the  waves!  " 


He  wears  no  crown  upon  his  royal 

head, 
But  many  millions  in  his  purse,  in 

stead; 
He   keeps   no  halls  of  state;    but 

holds  his  court 

h  re  greed  and 


In  dingy  ro 

thrift  resort; 
In  iron  chests  his  wondrous  wealth 

he  hoards  ; 
Banks  are  his  parlors;  brokers  are 

his  lords, 
Bonds,   bills,  and   mortgages,    his 

favorite  books, 
Gold  is  his  food,  and  coiners  are 

*  his  cooks; 
Ledgers  his  records;  stock  reports 

his  news; 
Merchants    his   yeomen,    and    his 

bondsmen  Jews; 
Kings   are  his  subjects,  gamblers 

are  his  knaves, 
Spendthrifts  his  fools,  and  misers 

are  his  slaves  ! 
The    good;    the    bad,   his    golden 

favor  prize, 
The  high,  the  low,  the  simple,  and 

the  wise, 
The  young,  the  old,  the  stately, 

and  the  gay,  — 
All    bow    obedient    to    his    roval 


sway 


See  where,  afar,  the  bright  Pacific 

•shore 
Gleams  in  the  sun  with  sands  of 

shining  ore, 
His  last,  great  empire  rises  to  the 

view, 
And  shames  the  wealth  of  India 

and  Pern! 
Here,  throned  within  his  gorgeous 

"golden  gate," 


He  wields  his  sceptre  o'er  the  rising 

State  ; 
Surveys  his  conquest  with  a  joyful 

eye, 
Nor  for  a  greater  heaves  a  single 

sigh  ! 
Here,    quite    beyond    the    classic 

poet's  dream, 
Pactolus   runs   in   every  winding 

stream; 
The  mountain  cliffs  the  glittering 

ore  enfold, 
And  every  reed  that  rustles  whis 


pers, 


Gold! 


If  to   his   sceptre   some    dishonor 

clings, 
Why  should  we  marvel  ?  —  'tis  the 

fate  of  kings ! 
Their  power  too  oft  perverted  by 

abuse, 
Their    manners    cruel,    or    their 

morals  loose, 
The  best  at  times  have  wandered 

far  astray 
From  simple  Virtue's  unseductive 

way ; 
And  few,  of  all,  at  once  could  make 

pretence 

To  royal  robes   and  rustic   inno 
cence  ! 


He  builds  the  house  where  Chris~ 

tian  people  pray, 
And  rears  a  bagnio  just  across  the 


Pays  to  the  priest  his  stinted  an 
nual  fee; 

Rewards  the  lawyer  for  his  venal 
plea ; 

Sends  an  apostle  to  the  heathen's 
aid; 

And  cheats  the  Choctaws,  for  the 
good  of  trade; 

Lifts  by  her  heels  an  Ellsler  to  re- 


248 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Or,  bribing  "Jenny,"   brings  an 

angel  down ! 
He    builds    the     Theatres    and 

gambling  Halls, 
Lloyds  and   Almacks   St.  Peter's 

and  St.  Paul's; 
Sin's  gay  retreats    and  Fashion's 

gilded  rooms, 
Hotels  and  Factories,  Palaces  and 

Tombs ; 
Bids  Commerce  spread  her  wings 

to  every  gale; 
Bends  to  the  breeze  the   pirate's 

bloody  sail; 
Helps    Science   seek  new   worlds 

among  the  stars ; 
Profanes  our  own  with  mercenary 

wars ; 
The   friend    of  wrong,    the   equal 

friend  of  right, 
Oft  may  we  bless  and  oft  deplore 

his  might, 
As    buoyant    hope    or  darkening 

fears  prevail, 
And  good  or  evil  turns  the  moral 

scale. 


All    fitting    honor    I   would    fain 

accord, 
Whene'er   he   builds  a  temple  to 

the  Lord; 
But  much  1  grieve  he  often  spends 

his  pelf, 

As  it  were  raised  iu  honor  of  him 
self; 
Or,  what  were  worse,   and  more 

profanely  odd, 
A  place  to  worship  some  Egyptian 

god! 
I  wish  his  favorite  architects  were 

graced 
With    sounder  judgment,    and    a 

Christian  taste. 
Immortal    Wren!    what    fierce, 

convulsive  shocks 
Would  jar  thy  bones  within  their 

leaden  box, 


Couldst  thou  but  look  across  the 
briny  spray, 

And  see  some  churches  of  the 
present  day !  — 

The  lofty  dome  of  consecrated 
bricks, 

Where  all  the  "  orders  "  in  disor 
der  mix, 

To  form  a  temple  whose  incongru 
ous  frame 

Confounds  design  and  puts  the 
Arts  to  shame! 

Where  "styles"  discordant  on  the 
vision  jar, 

Where  Greek  and  Roman  are  again 
at  war, 

And,  as  of  old,  the  unrelenting  Goth 

Comes  down  at  last  and  over 
whelms  them  both ! 


Once  on  a  time  I  heard  a  parsoti  say 
(Talking  of  churches  in  a  sprightly 

way ), 
That  there  was  more  Religion  in 

i  he  walls 
Of  towering  "  Trinity,"  or  grand 

"St.  Paul's," 
Than   one  could    find,  upon    the 

strictest  search, 

In  half  the  saints  within  the  Chris 
tian  Church ! 
A  layman  sitting  at  the  parson's 

side 
To  this  new  dogma  thus  at  once 

replied: 
"If,  as  you  say,  Religion  has  hr- 

home 
In   the  mere  walls  that  form  the 

sacred  dome, 
It  seems  to  me  the  very  plainest 

case, 
To  climb  the  steeple  were  a  growth 

in  grace; 
And  he  to  whom  the  pious  strength 

were  given 
To  reach  the  highest     were    the 

nearest  Heaven!  " 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


249 


I  thought  Hie  answer  just;  and  yet 

't  is  clear 
A  solemn  aspect,   grand  and  yet 

severe, 
Becomes  the  house  of  God.     'T  is 

hard  to  say  . 

Who  from   the   proper  mark   are 

most  astray,  — 
They  who  erect,  for  holy  Christian 

rites, 

A  gav  Pagoda  with  its  tinsel  lights, 
Or  tliey  who  offer  to  the  God  of 

Love 
A  gorgeous  Temple  of  the  pagan 

Jove! 


Immortal  Homer  and  Tassoni  sing 
What    vast    results    from    trivial 

causes  spring; 
How  naughty  Helen  by  her  stolen 

joy 

Brought  woe  and  ruin  to  unhappy 

Troy ; 
How,  for  a  bucket,  rash  Bologna 

sold 
More  blood  and  tears  than  twenty 

such  could  hold! 

Thy  power,  0  Money,  shows  re 
sults  as  strange 
As   aught    revealed    in   History's 

widest  range; 
Thy  smallest  coin  of  shining  silver 

shows 
More  potent  magic  than  a  conjurer 

knows ! 
In  olden  times,  —  if  classic  poets 

say 

The  simple  truth,  as  poets  do  to 
day,  — 
When   Charon's  boat  conveyed  a 

spirit  o'er 
The  Lethean  water  to  the  Hadean 

shore, 
The  fare  was  just  a  penny, — not 

too  great, 
The    moderate,    regular,    Stygian 

statute  rate. 


Now,  for  a  shilling,  he  will  cross 

the  stream, 
(His  paddles  whirling  to  the  force 

of  steam !) 
And  bring,  obedient  to  some  wizard 

power, 
Back  to  the  Karth  more  spirits  in 

an  hour 
Than    Brooklyn's    famous    ferry 

could  convey, 
Or  thine,  Hoboken,  in  the  longest 

day! 
Time  was  when  men  bereaved  of 

vital  breath 
Were  calm  and  silent  in  the  realms 

of  Death ; 
When  mortals  dead  and  decently 

iuurued 
Were  heard  no  more ;  no  traveller 

returned, 
Who  once  had  crossed  the  dark 

Plutonian  strand, 

To  whisper  secrets  of  the  spirit- 
land,  — 
Save  when  perchance  some   sad, 

unquiet  soul 
Among  the  tombs  might  wander 

on  parole,  — 

A  well-bred  ghost,  at  night's  be 
witching  noon, 
Returned  to  catch  some  glimpses 

of  the  moon, 
Wrapt  in  a  mantle  of  unearthly 

white 
(The  only  'rapping  of  an  ancient 

sprite), 
Stalked  round  in  silence  till  the 

break  of  day, 
Then  from  the  Karth  passed  un- 

perceived  away. 
Now  all  is  changed:  the  musty 

maxim  fails, 

And  dead  men  do  repeat  the  queer 
est  tales ! 
Alas,  that  here,  a    in  the  books, 

we  see 
The  travellers  clash,   the  doctors 

disagree! 


250 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Alas,  that  all,  the  farther  they  ex 
plore, 

For  all  their  search  are  but  con 
fused  the  more ! 

Ye    great    departed !  —  men    of 
mighty  mark,  — 

Bacon  and  Newton,  Adams,  Adam 
Clarke, 

Edwards  and  Whitefield,  Franklin, 
Robert  Hall, 

Calhoun,  Clay.  Channing,  Daniel 
Webster,  —  all 

Ye  great  quit-tenants  of  this  earth 
ly  bull,  — 

If  in  your  new  abodes  ye  cannot 
rest, 

But  must  return,  0,  grant  us  this 
request : 

Come  with  a  noble  and  celestial  air, 

To  prove  your  title  to  the  names 
ye  bear! 

Give   some   clear  token    of  your 
heavenly  birth, 

Write  as  good  English  as  ye  wrote 
on  earth ! 

Show  not  to  all,  in  ranting  prose 
and  verse, 

The  spirit's  progress  is  from  bad  to 
worse ; 

And,  what  were  once  superfluous 
to  advise. 

Don't  tell,  I  beg  you,  such  egre 
gious  lies; 

Or  if  perchance  your  agents  are  to 
blame, 

Don't   let    them   trifle   with   your 
honest  fame; 

Let  chairs   and    tables   rest,   and 
"rap  "  instead, 

Ay,  "knock  "  your  slippery  "  Me 
diums  "  on  the  head ! 

What  direful  woes  the  hapless  man 

attend, 
Who  in  the  means  sees  life's  su- 

premest  end : 
The    wretched    miser,  —  money's 

sordid  slave,  — 


His  only  joy  to  gather  and  to  save. 

For  this  he  wakes  at  morning's 
early  light, 

Toils  through  the  day,  and  ponders 
in  the  night ; 

For  this,  —  to  swell  his  heap  of 
tarnished  gold,  — 

Sweats  in  the  sun,  and  shivers  in 
the  cold, 

And  suffers  more  from  hunger 
every  day 

Than  the  starved  beggar  whom  he 
spurns  away. 

Death  comes  erewhile  to  end  his 
worldly  strife ; 

With  all  his  saving  he  must  lose 
his  life! 

Perchance  the  doctor  might  pro 
tract  his  breath, 

And  stay  the  dreadful  messenger 
of"  death ; 

But  none  is  there  to  comfort  or  ad 
vise; 

'T  would  cost  a  dollar;  —  so  the 
miser  dies. 


Sad  is  the  sight  when  Money's 

power  controls 
In  wedlock's  chains   the  fate  of 

human  souls. 
From  mine  to  mint,  curst  is  the 

coin  that  parts 
In  helpless  grief  two  loving  human 

hearts; 
Or  joins  in  discord,  jealousy,  and 

hare, 

A  sordid  suitor  to  a  loathing  mate. 
I   waive   the    case,    the    barren 

case,  of  those 
Who  have  no  hearts  to  cherish  or 

to  lose ; 

Whose  wedded  state  is  but  a  bar 
gain  made 
In  due  accordance  with  the  laws 

of  trade. 
When  the  prim  parson  joins  their 

willing  hands, 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


251 


To  marry  City  lots  to  Western 
lands, 

Or  in  connubial  ecstasy  to  mix 

Cash  and  "collateral,"  ten-per- 
cents  with  six, 

And  in  the  "  patent  safe  "  of  Hy 
men  locks 

Impassioned  dollars  with  ena 
moured  stocks, 

Laugh  if  you  will,  —  and  who  can 
we'll  refrain?  — 

But  waste  no  tears,  nor  pangs  of 
pitying  pain; 

Hearts  such  as  these  may  play  the 
queerest  pranks, 

But  never  break, — except  with 
breaking  hanks. 

Yet,    let   me    hint,    a   thousand 
maxims  prove 

Plutus  may  be  the  truest  friend  to 
Love. 

"Love  in  a  cottage  "  cosily  may 
dwell, 

But  much  prefers  to  have  it  fur 
nished  well. 

A  parlor  ample,  and  a  kitchen  snujr, 

A  handsome  carpet,  an  embroid 
ered  rug, 

A  well-stored  pantry,  and  a  tidy 
maid, 

A  blazing  hearth,  a  cooling  win 
dow-shade, 

Though  merely  mortal,  money- 
purchased  things, 

Have    wondrous     power     to    clip 

Love's  errant  wings! 
"  Love  in  a  cottage"  isn't  just 
the  same 

When  wind  and  water  strive  to 
quench  his  flame; 

Too  oft  it  breeds  the  sharpest  dis 
content, 

That  pu/zling  question,  "  How  to 
pay  the  rent  "  ; 

A  smoky  chimney  may  alone  suffice 

To  dim  the  radiance  of  the  fondest 
eyes ; 


A  northern  blast,  beyond  the  slight 
est  doubt, 

May  fairly  blow  the  torch  of  Hy 
men  out; 

And  I  have  heard  a  worthy  matron 
hold 

(As  one  who  knew  the  truth  of 
what  she  told), 

Love  once  was  drowned,  though 
reckoned  waterproof, 

By  the  mere  dripping  of  a  leaky 
roof! 

Full  many  a  wise  philosopher 
has  tried 

Mankind  in  fitting  orders  to  divide ; 

And  by  their  forms,  their  fashions, 
and  their  face, 

To  group,  assort,  and  classify  the 
race. 

One  would  distinguish  people  by 
their  books; 

Another,  quaintly,  solely  by  their 
cooks; 

And  one,  who  graced  the  philo 
sophic  bench, 

Found  these  three  classes,  —  "  wo 
men,  men,  and  French  I  " 

The  best  remains,  of  all  that  I 
have  known, 

A  broad  distinction,  brilliant,  and 
my  own: 

Of  all  mankind,  I  classify  the 
lot, 

Those  who  have  Afoney,  and  those 
who  have  not ! 

Think'st  thou  the  line  a  poet's 

fiction?  —  then 
Go  look  abroad  upon  the  ways  of 

men ! 
Go  ask  the  banker,  with  his  golden 

seals; 
Go  ask  the  borrower,  cringing  at 

his  heels; 
Go  ask  the  maid,  who,  emulous  of 

woe. 


252 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


Discards    the    worthier    for    the 

wealthier  beau ; 
Go  ask  the  parson,  when  a  higher 

prize 
Points  with  the  salary  where  his 

duty  lie? ; 
Go  ask  the  lawyer,  who,  in  legal 

smoke, 
Stands,  like  a  stoker,  redolent  of 

"  Coke," 
And  swings  his  arms  to  emphasize 

a  plea 
Made  doubly  ardent  by  a  golden 

fee; 
Go  ask  the  doctor,  who  has  kindly 

sped 
Old   Crojsus,  dying  on  a  damask 

bed, 

While  his  poor  neighbor  —  wonder 
ful  to  tell  — 
Was  left  to  Nature,  suffered,  and 

got  well ! 
Go  ask  the  belle,  in  high  patrician 

pride, 
Who  spurns  the  maiden  nurtured 

at  her  side, 
Her  youth's  loved  playmate  at  the 

village-school, 
Ere  changing  fortune   taught  the 

rigid  rule 
Which  marks  the  loftier  from  the 

lowlier  lot,  — 
Those  who  have  money  from  those 

who  have  not ! 

Of  all   the   ills   that  owe   their 

baneful  rise 
To   wealth    o'ergrown,    the    most 

despotic  vice 

Is  Circean  Luxury ;  prolific  dame 
Of  mental  impotence   and  moral 

shame, 
And  all  the   cankering  evils  that 

debase 
The  human  form   and   dwarf  the 

human  race. 
See  yon  strange  figure,  and  a 

moment  scan 


That    slenderest    sample    of    the 

genus  man ! 
Mark,  as  he  ambles,  those  preca^ 

rious  pegs 
Which  by  their   motion  must  be 

deemed  his  legs ! 
He  has  a  head,  —  one  may  be  sure 

of  that 
Bv  just  observing  that  he  wears  a 

hat; 
That    he    has    arms    is    logically 

plain 
From  his  wide  coat-sleeves  and  his 

pendent  cane ; 
A  tongue  as  well,  —  the  inference 

is  fair, 
Since,  on  occasion,  he  can  lisp  and 

swear. 
You  ask  his  use V  —  that's  not  so 

very  clear, 
Unless    to    spend    five    thousand 

pounds  a  year 
In  modish   vices   which  his   soul 

adores, 
Drink,  dress,  and  gaming,  horses, 

hounds,  and  scores 
Of  other  follies  which  I  can't  re 
hearse, 
Dear  to  himself  and  dearer  to  his 

purse. 


No    product    he    of    Fortune's 

fickle  dice, 
The   due    result  of   Luxury  and 

Vice, 
Three  generations  have  sufficed  to 

bring 

That  narrow-chested,   pale,  ener 
vate  thing 
Down  from  a  man,  —  for,  marvel 

as  you  will, 
His  huge  great-grandsire  fought  on 

Bunker  Hill ! 
Bore,   without    gloves,   a  musket 

through  the  war; 
Came  back  adorned  with  many  a 

noble  scar; 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


253 


Labored  and  prospered  at  a  thriv 
ing  rate, 

And,  dying,  left  his  heir  a  snug 
estate,  — 

Which  grew  apace  upon  his  busy 
hands, 

Stocks,  ships,  and  factories,  tene 
ments  and  lands, 

All  here  at  last,  —  the  money  and 
-  the  race,  — 

The  latter  ending  in  that  foolish 
face ; 

The  former  wandering,  far  beyond 
his  ami, 

Back  to  the  rough  plebeians  whence 
it  came ! 


Enough  of  censure ;  let  my  hum 
ble  lays 

Employ  one  moment  in  congenial 
praise. 

Let  other  pens  with  pious  ardor 
paint 

The  selfish  virtues  of  the  cloistered 
saint ; 

In  lettered  marble  let  the  stranger 
read 

Of  him  who,  dying,  did  a  worthy 
deed, 

And  left  to  charity  the  cherished 
store 

Which,  to  his  sorrow,  he  could 
hoard  no  more. 

I  venerate  the  nobler  man  who 
gives 

His  generous  dollars  while  the  do 
nor  lives; 

Gives  with  a  heart  as  liberal  as 
the  palms 

That  to  the  needy  spread  his  hon 
ored  alms; 

Gives  with  a  head  whose  yet  un 
clouded  light 

To  worthiest  objects  points  the 
giver's  sight; 

Gives  with  a  hand  still  potent  to 
enforce 


His  well-aimed  bounty,  and  direct 

its  course ;  — 
Such  is  the  giver  who  must  stand 

confest 
In  giving  glorious,  and  supremely 

blest! 
One    such    as    this    the  captious 

world  could  find 
In  noble    Perkins,   angel    of   the 

blind; 

One  such  as  this  in  princely  Law 
rence  shone, 
Ere  heavenly  kindred  claimed  him 

for  their  own ! 


To  me  the  boon  may  gracioux 

Heaven  assign,  — 
No   cringing    suppliant   at  Mam 
mon's  shrine, 
Nor  slave  of  Poverty,  —  with  joy 

to  share 
The    happy  mean    expressed    in 

Agur's  prayer:  — 
A  house  (my  own)   to  keep  me 

safe  and  warm, 
A  shade  in  sunshine,  and  a  shield 

in  storm ; 

A  generous  board,  and  fitting  rai 
ment,  clear 
Of  debts  and  duns  throughout  the 

circling  year; 
Silver  and  gold,  in  moderate  store, 

that  I 
May  purchase  joys  that  only  these 

can  buy ; 
Some  gems  of  art,  a  cultured  mind 

to  please, 
Books,   pictures,  statues,  literary 

ease. 
That  "  Time   is  Money  "  prudent 

Franklin  shows 
In  rhyming  couplets   and  senten-' 

tious  prose. 
0,  had   he   taught   the  world,  in 

prose  and  rhyme, 
The  higher  truth  that  Money  mav 

be  Time! 


254 


THE  MONEY-KING. 


And  showed    the    people,   in  his 

pleasant  ways, 
The   art    of   coining    dollars  into 

days! 
Days   for  improvement,  days  for 

social  life, 
Days  for  your  God,  your  children, 

and  your  wife; 
Some   days   for  pleasure,  and  an 

hour  to  spend 
In  genial  converse  with  an  honest 

friend. 
Such  days  be  mine !  —  and  grant 

me,  Heaven,  but  this, 
With  blooming  health,  man's  high 
est  earthly  bliss, — 


And  I  will  read,  without  a  sigh  or 

frown, 
The  startling  news  that  stocks  are 

going  down; 
Hear  without  envy  that  a  stranger 

hoards 
Or  spends   more   treasure   than  a 

mint  affords; 
See    my   next  neighbor  pluck  a 

golden  plum, 

Calm  and  content  within  my  cot 
tage-home; 
Take  for  myself  what  honest  thrift 

may  bring, 
And    for   his    kindness   bless   tlu 

Money-King! 


EXCEEPTS    FEOM    OCCASIONAL 
POEMS. 


EXCERPTS  FROM  OCCASIONAL  POEMS. 


EL  DORADO. 

LET  others,  dazzled  by  the  shin 
ing  ore, 

Delve  in  the  dirt  to  gather  golden 
store. 

Let  others,  patient  of  the  menial 
toil 

And  daily  suffering,  seek  the  pre 
cious  spoil ; 

Ko  hero  I,  in  such  a  cause  to 
brave 

Hunger  and  pain,  the  robber  and 
the  grave 

I  '11  work,  instead,  exempt  from 
hate  and  harm, 

The  fruitful  "placers"  of  my 
mountain-farm, 

Where  the  bright  ploughshare 
opens  richest  veins, 

From  whence  shall  issue  countless 
golden  grains, 

Which  in  the  fulness  of  the  year 
shall  come. 

In  bounteous  sheaves,  to  bless  my 
harvest-homo ! 

But,  haply,  good  may  come  of 

mining  yet: 
'T  will   help   to   pay  the   nation's 

foreign  debt; 
'Twill  further  liberal  arts;  plate 

rings  and  pins, 
Gild  books  and  coaches,  mirrors, 

signs,  and  sins; 


'T  will  cheapen  pens  and  pencils, 
and  perchance 

May  give  us  honest  dealing  for 
Finance ! 

(That  magic  art,  unknown  to 
darker  times 

When  fraud  and  falsehood  were 
reputed  crimes. 

Whose  curious  laws  with  nice  pre 
cision  teach 

How  whole  estates  are  made  from 
parts  of  speech ; 

How  lying  rags  for  honest  coin 
shall  pass, 

And  foreign  gold  be  paid  in  native 
brass ! ) 

'T  will  save,  perhaps,  each  deep- 
indebted  State 

From  all  temptation  to  "repudi 
ate," 

Till  Time  restore  our  precious 
credit  lost, 

And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plym- 
ley's  ghost !  IB 


THE  GOOD  TIME  COMING. 

WHILE  drones  and  dreaming  opti 
mists  protest, 

"The  worst  is  well,  and  all  is  for 
the  best"; 


258 


THE  LIBRARY. 


And   sturdy  croakers    chant    the 

counter  song, 
That    "  man     grows    worse,    and 

everything  is  wrong"  ; 
Truth,  as  of  old,  still  loves  a  golden 

mean. 
And  shuns  extremes  to  walk  erect 

between ! 
The  world    improves;   with    slow, 

unequal  ^>ace, 
"The   Good  Time's   coming  "to 

our  hapless  race. 

The  general  tide  beneath  the  reflu 
ent  surge 
Rolls  on,  resistless,  to  its  destined 

verge ! 

Unfriendly  hills   no  longer   inter 
pose  17 
As  stubborn   walls  to  geographic 

foes, 
Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to 

divide 
The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on    | 

either  side. 
Promethean  Science,  with  untiring 

eve 
Searchinir   the    mysteries    of   the 

earth  and  sky; 
And  cunning  Art,  with  strong  and 

plastic  hand 
To  work  the  marvels  Science  may 

co.nmand  ; 
And     broad-winged      Commerce, 

swift  to  carry  o'er 
Earth's  countless  blessings  to  her 

farthest  shore,  — 

These,  and  no  German  nor  Gene 
van  sage, 
These  are  the  great  reformers   of 

the  age ! 


Are  tamed  for  heralds  of  her  sov 
ereign  will ! 

Old  Ocean's  breast  a  new  invader 
feels, 

And  heaves  in  vain  to  clog  her  iron 
wheels: 

In  vain  the  Forests  marshal  all 
their  force, 

And  Mountains  rise  to  stay  her  on 
ward  course: 

From  out  ber  path  each  bold  op- 
poser  hurled, 

She  throws  her  girdle  round  a  cap 
tive  world ! 


THE   POWER-PRESS. 

STRANGE  is  the  sound  when  first 
the  notes  begin 

Where  human  voices  blend  with 
Vulcan's  din ; 

The  click,  the  clank,  the  clangor, 
and  the  sound 

Of  rattling  rollers  in  their  rapid 
round; 

The  whixzing  belt,  the  sharp  me 
tallic  jar, 

Like  clashing  spears  in  fierce  chiv- 
alric  war; 

The  whispering  birth  of  myriad 
flying  leaves, 

Gathered,  anon,  in  countless  mot 
ley  sheaves. 

Then  scattered  far,  as  on  the 
winged  wind, 

The  mortal  nurture  of  th'  immor 
tal  mind! 


See  Art,  exultant  in  her  stately 
car, 

On  Nature's  Titans  wage  trium 
phant  war! 

While  e'en  the  Lightnings  by  her 
wondrous  skill 


THE   LIBRARY. 

HERE,  e'en  the   sturdy  democrat 

may  find, 
Nor  scorn  their  rank,  the  nobles  of 

the  mind ; 


THE  NEWS. 


While  kings  may  learn,  nor  blush 
•it  being  shown, 

How  Learning's  patents  abrogate 
their  own. 

A   goodly  company   and    fair    to 
see ; 

Royal  plebeians;  earls  of  low  de 
gree; 

Beggars    whose    wealth    enriches 
every  clime; 

Princes   who   scarce  can  boast  a 

mental  dime 

t       Crowd  here  together,  like  the  quaint 
array 

Of  jostling  neighbors  on  a  market 
day. 

Homer  and  Milton,  —  can  we  call 
them  blind  '1  — 

Of  godlike  sight,  the  vision  of  the 
mind; 

Shakespeare,  who  calmly   looked 
creation  through, 

"Exhausted  worlds,  and  then  im 
agined  new  " ; 

Plato  the  sage,  so  thoughtful  and 
serene, 

He  seems  a  prophet  by  his  heaven 
ly  mien; 

Shrewd  Socrates,  whose  philosoph 
ic  power 

Xantippe  proved  in  many  a  trying 
hour; 

And   Aristophanes,  whose  humor 
run 

In   vain  endeavor  to  be-"  cloud" 
the  sun ;  18 

Majestic  /Eschylus,  whose  glowing 
page 

Holds   half   the  grandeur  of   the 
Athenian  stage; 

1'indar,  whose  odes,  replete  with 
heavenly  fire, 

Proclaim  the  master  of  ihe  Grecian 
lyre; 

Anacreon,  famed  for  many  a  lus 
cious  line 

Devote  to  Venus  and  the  god  of 
win* 


I  love  vast  libraries;  yet  there  is  a 

doubt 

If  one  be  better  with  them  or  with 
out,  — 
Unless   he  use  them   wisely,  and, 

indeed, 
Knows  the  high   art  of  what  and 

how  to  read. 
At  Learning's  fountain  it  is  sweet 

to  drink, 

But 't  is  a  nobler  privilege  to  think; 
And  oft,    from   books   apart,    the 

thirsting  mind 
May   make  the   nectar    which   it 

cannot  find. 
'T  is  well  to  borrow  from  the  gcoc. 

and  great: 
'T  is  wise  to  learn;  't  is  god-ike  to 

create ! 


THE  NEWS. 

THE  News,  indeed !  —  pray  do  you 

call  it  news 
When     shallow    noddles    publish 

shallow  views? 
Pray,    is    it    news    that    turnips 

should  be  bred 
As  large  and  hollow  as  the  owner's 

head  ? 
News,  that  a  clerk  should  rob  his 

master's  hoard, 
Whose    meagre    salary    scarcely 

pays  his  board? 

News,  that  two  knaves,  their  spu 
rious  friendship  o'er, 
Should  tell  the  truths  which  they 

concealed  before? 
News,  that  a  maniac,  weary  of  his 

life, 
Should  end  his  sorrows  with  a  rope 

or  knife? 
News,  that  a  wife  should  violate 

the  vows 


260 


THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM. 


That  bind  her,  loveless,  to  a  tyrant 
spouse  ? 

Veics,  that  a  daughter  cheats  pa 
ternal  rule, 

And  weds  a  scoundrel  to  escape  a 
fool?  — 

The  news,  indeed !  —  Such  mat 
ters  are  as  old 

As  sin  and  folly,  rust  and  must 
and  mould ! 


THE  EDITOR'S   SANCTUM. 

SCENE, — a  third  story  in  a  dis 
mal  court, 

Where  weary  printers  just  at  eight 
resort ; 

A  dingy  door  that  with  a  rattle 
shuts ; 

Heaps  of  "Exchanges,"  much 
adorned  with  "  cuts  "  ; 

Pens,  paste,  and  paper  on  the  ta 
ble  strewed ; 

Books,  to  be  read  when  they  have 
been  reviewed ; 

Pamphlets  and  tracts  so  very  dull 
indeed 

That  only  they  who  wrote  them 
e'er  will  read; 

Nine  letters,  touching  themes  of 
every  sort, 

And  one  with  money,  —  just  a 
shilling  short,  — 

Lie  scattered  round  upon  a  com 
mon  level. 

PERSONS, — the  Editor;  enter, 
no\v,  the  Devil :  — 

"Please,  sir,  since  this  'ere  article 
was  wrote, 

There  's  later  news  perhaps  you  VI 
like  to  quote: 

J'he  Rebels  storming  with  prodi 
gious  force, 


'  Sumter  has  fallen!'"     "Set  it 

up,  of  course." 
"And,  sir,  that  murder's  done— - 

there  's  only  left 
One     larceny."        "  Pray    don't 

omit  the  theft." 
"And,  sir,  about   the   mob  —  the 

matter's  fat"  — 
"The     mob? — that's    wrong  — 

pray  just  distribute  that." 
Exit  the  imp  of  Faust,  and  enter 

now 
A  fierce  subscriber  with  a  scowling 

brow. 
"  Sir,  curse  your  paper ! —  send  the 

thing' to  — "     Well, 
The  place   he  names   were  impo 
lite  to  tell; 
Enough   to  know  the  hero  of  the 

Press 

Cries:  "  Thomas,  change  the  gen 
tleman's  address! 
We  '11  send  the  paper,  if  the  post 

will  let  it, 
Where  the  subscriber  will  be  sure 

to  get  it!  " 


Who  would  not  be  an  Editor?  — 
To  write 

The  magic  "  we "  of  such  enor 
mous  might; 

To  be  so  great  beyond  the  common 
span 

It  takes  the  plural  to  express  the 
man; 

And   yet,  alas,  it  happens  often 
times 

A   unit  serves   to  number  all  his 
dimes ! 

But  don't  despise  him;  there  may 
chance  to  be 

An    earthquake    lurking    in    his 

simple  "  we  "  ! 

In  the  close  precincts  of  a  dusty 
room 

That  owes  few  losses  to  the  lazy- 
broom, 


THE  EDITOR'S  SANCTUM. 


There   sits  the   man;  you   do  not 

know  his  name. 
Brown,  Jones,  or  Johnson,  —  it  is 

all  the  same.  — 
Scribbling  away  at  what  perchance 

may  seem 
An  idler's  musing,  or  a  dreamer's 

dream ; 

His  pen  runs  rambling,  like  a  stray 
ing  steed: 
The  "we"  lie  writes  seems  very 

"  wee  "  indeed; 
15 ut  mark  the  change;  behold  the 

wondrous  power 
Wrought    by    the    Press    in    one 

eventful  hour; 


To-night,  't  is  harmless  as  a  maid 
en's  rhymes; 

To-morrow,  thunder  in  the  Lon 
don  Times! 

The  ministry  dissolves   that  heli 
for  years ; 

Her   Grace,   the   Duchess,  is   dis 
solved  in  tears; 

The  Rothschilds  quail;  the  church 
the  army,  quakes; 

The   very  kingdom  to   its   centre 
shakes ; 

The  Corn  Laws  fall ;  the  price  of 
bread  comes  down,  — 

Thanks  to  the  "  we  "  of  Johnson, 
Joues,  or  Brown ! 


TKAVESTTES 


TKAVESTIES. 


ICARUS. 


ALL  modern  themes  of  poesy  are  spun  so  very  fine, 

That  now  the  most  amusing  muse,  e  gratia,  such  as  mine, 

Is  often  forced  to  cut  the  thread  that  strings  our  recent  rhymes, 

And  try  the  stronger  staple  of  the  good  old  classic  times. 

n. 

There  lived  and  flourished  long  ago,  in  famous  Athens  town, 
One  Dcedalus,  a  carpenter  of  genius  and  renown; 
('T  was  he  who  with  an  auger  taught  mechanics  how  to  bore,  — 
An  art  which  the  philosophers  monopolized  before. ) 


His  only  son  was  Icnrus,  a  most  precocious  lad, 

The  pride  of  Mrs.  Daedalus,  the  image  of  his  dad; 

And  while  he  yet  was  in  his  teens  such  progress  he  had  made, 

He  'd  got  above  his  father's  size,  and  much  above  his  trade. 


Now  Dcedalm,  the  carpenter,  had  made  a  pair  of  wings, 
Contrived  of  wood  and  feathers  and  a  cunning  set  of  springs, 
By  means  of  which  the  wearer  could  ascend  to  any  height, 
And  sail  about  among  the  clouds  as  easy  as  a  kite! 


"0  father,"  said  young  Icnrus,  "how  I  should  like  to  fly! 
And  go  like  you  where  all  is  blue  along  the  upper  sky; 
How  very  charming  it  would  he  above  the  moon  to  climb, 
And  scamper  through  the  Zodiac,  and  have  a  high  old  time! 


266  ICARUS. 


"  0  would  n't  it  be  jolly,  though,  — to  stop  at  all  the  inns; 
To  take  a  luncheon  at  '  The  Crab,'  and  tipple  at  '  The  Twins ' ; 
And,  just  for  fun  and  fancy,  while  careering  through  the  air, 
To  kiss  the  Virgin,  tease  the  Ram,  and  bait  the  biggest  Hear  f 


''  0  father,  please  to  let  me  go!  "  was  still  the  urchin's  cry; 
"  I  '11  be  extremely  careful,  sir,  and  won't  go  very  high; 

0  if  this  little  pleasure-trip  you  only  will  allow, 

1  promise  to  be  back  again  in  time  to  fetch  the  cow!  " 


"  You  're  rather  young,"  said  Daedalus,  "  to  tempt  the  upper  air; 
But  take  the  wings,  and  mind  your  eye  with  very  special  care; 
And  keep  at  least  a  thousand  miles  below  the  nearest  star; 
Young  lads,  when  out  upon  a  lark,  are  apt  to  go  too  far!  " 


He  took  the  wings  —  that  foolish  boy  —  without  the  least  dismay; 
His  father  stuck  'em  on  with  wax,  and  so  he  soared  away; 
Up,  up  he  rises,  like  a  bird,  and  not  a  moment  stops 
Until  he's  fairly  out  of  sight  beyond  the  mountain-tops! 


And  still  he  flies  —  away  —  away ;  it  seems  the  merest  fun ; 
No  marvel  he  is  getting  bold,  and  aiming  at  the  sun; 
No  marvel  he  forgets  his  sire;  it  is  n't  very  odd 
That  one  so  far  above  the  earth  should  think  himself  a  god ! 


Already,  in  his  silly  pride,  he  's  gone  too  far  aloft; 
The  heat  begins  to  scorch  his  wings;  the  wax  is  waxing  soft; 
Down  —  down  he  goes !  —  Alas !  —  next  day  poor  Icarus  was  found 
Afloat  upon  the  yEgean  Sea,  extremely  damp  and  drowned ! 


L,' ENVOI. 

The  moral  of  this  mournful  tale  is  plain  enough  to  alii  — 
Don't  get  above  your  proper  sphere,  or  you  may  chance  to  fall; 
Remember,  too,  that  borrowed  plumes  are  most  uncertain  things; 
And  never  try  to  scale  the  sky  with  other  people's  wings ! 


PYRAMVS  AND    TH1SBE 


267 


PYRAMUS   AND  THISBE. 

THIS  tragical  tale,  which,  they  say, 
is  a  true  one, 

Is  old,  but  the  manner  is  wholly  a 
new  one. 

One  Ovul,  a  writer  of  some  reputa 
tion, 

Ha*  told  it  before  in  a  tedious  nar-   I 
ration; 

In  a  style,  to  be  sure,  of  remark- 
aide  fulness, 

But  which   nobody   reads  on  ac 
count  of  its  dulness. 

Young  Peter  Pyramus,  /call  him 

Petti; 
Not  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  or 

metre, 
But  merely  to  make  the  name  com- 

pleter,  — 

For  Peter  lived  in  the  olden  times, 
And  in  one  of  the  \vorst  of  Pagan 

climes 

That  flourish  now  in  classical  fame, 
Long  before 
Kither  noble  or  boor 
Had  such  a  thing  as  a  Christian 

naniP,  — 
Young  Peter  then  was  a  nice  young 

beau 
As  any  young  lady  would  wish  to 

know ; 

In  years,  I  ween, 
He'was  rather  green, 
That  is  to  say,  he  was  just  eigh 
teen,  — 
A  trifle  too  short,  and  a  shaving 

too  lean, 
But  "  a  nice  young  man  "  as  ever 

was  seen, 
And  fit  to  dance  with  a  May-day 

queen ! 

Now  Peter  loved  a  beautiful  girl 
As  ever  ensnared  the  heart  of  an 

earl 
In  the  magical  trap  of  an  auburn 

curl,  — 


A  little  Miss  Thisbe  who  lived  next 

door, 
(They  slept   in   fact  on  the  very 

same  floor, 
With  a  wall   between  them,  and 

nothing  more, 

Those  double  dwellings  were  com 
mon  of  yore, ) 
And  they  loved   each   other,   the 

legends  say, 
In  that  very  beautiful,  bountiful 

way 

That 'every  young  maid, 

And  every  young  blade, 

Are  wont  to  do'  before  they  grow 

staid, 
And  learn  to  love  by  the  laws  of 

trade. 
But  alack-a-day  for  the  girl  and 

boy, 
A  little  impediment  checked  their 

j°>ri 

And  gave  them,  awhile,  the  deep 
est  annoy. 

For  some  good  reason,  which  his 
tory  cloaks, 

The  match  did  n't  happen  to  please 
the  old  folks! 

So    Thisbe's    father  and    Peter's 

mother 
Began  the  young  couple  to  worry 

and  bother, 
And  tried  their  innocent  passions 

to  smother 
By  keeping  the  lovers  from  seeing 

each  other! 
But  whoever  heard 
Of  a  marriage  deterred, 
Or  even  deferred, 
By  any  contrivance  so  very  absurd 
As  scolding  the  boy,  and  caging 
his  bird? 

Now  Peter,  who  wasn't  dis^ 
couraged  at  all 

By  obstacles  such  as  the  timid  ap 
pall, 


268 


P  YRA  MUS  AND    THIS  BE. 


Contrived  to  discover  a  hole  in  the 

wall, 

Which  was  n't  so  thick 
But  removing  a  brick 
Made  a  passage,  —  though  rather 

provokingly  small. 
Through  this  little  chink  the  lover 

could  greet  her, 
And  secrecy  made  their  courting 

the  sweeter. 
'•Vhile  Peter  ki«scc?    Thi«be    fivd 

Thishe  kissed  Peter,  — 
For  kisses,  like  folks  with  diminu 
tive  souls, 
Will  manage  to  creep  through  the 

smallest  of  holes ! 

'T  was  here  that  the  lovers,  intent 

upon  love, 

Laid  a  nice  little  plot 
To  meet  at  a  spot 
Near  a  mulberry-tree  in  a  neigh 
boring  grove; 
For  the  plan  was  all  laid 
By  the  youth  and  the  rnaid, 
(Whose  hearts,  it  would  seem,  were 

uncommonly  bold  ones, ) 
To  ruij  off  and  get  married  ia  spite 
of  the  old  ones. 

In  the  shadows  of  evening,  as  still 

as  a  mouse. 
The  beautiful  maiden  slipt  out  of 

the  house, 
The    mulberry-tree    impatient   to 

find, 
While  Poter,  the  vigilant  matrons 

to  blind, 
Strolled  leisurely  out  some  minutes 

behind. 

While  waiting  alone  by  the  tryst- 
ing  tree, 
A  terrible  lion 
As  e'er  you  set  eye  on 
Came  roaring  along  quite  horrid  to 

see, 
And  caused  the  young  maiden  in 

terror  to  flee, 


( A  lion  's  a  creature  whose  regular 

trade  is 
Blood, —  and    li  a    terrible    thing 

among  ladies,") 
And  losing  her  veil  as  she  ran  from 

the  wood, 
Themonster  bedabbled  it  over  with 

blood. 

Now   Peter  arriving,    and    seeing 

t'.;?.  v^C 

All  covered  o':r 
And  reeking  with  giic, 
Turned  all  of  a  sudden  exceei^jf* 

pale, 
And  sat  himself  down  to  weep  and 

to  wail,  — 
For,  soon  as  he  saw  the  garment, 

poor  Peter 
Made  up  in  his  mind,  in  very  short 

metre, 
That  Thisbe   was   dead,  and   the 

lion  had  eat  her! 
So  breathing  a  prayer, 
He  determined  to  share 
The  fate  of  his  darling,  *'  the  loved 

i\n<\  the  lost," 
And  fell  on  his  dagger,  and  gave 

up  the  ghost! 

Now  Thisbe  returning,  .and  view 
ing  her  beau, 

Lying  dead  by  the  veil  (which  she 
happened  to  know), 

She   guessed,    in   a   moment,    the 

cause  of  his  erring, 
And  seizing  the  knife 
Which  had  taken  his  life, 

In  less  than  a  jiffy  was  dead  as 
a  herring ! 


Young  gentlemen  !  pray  recollect, 

if  you  please, 
Not    to    make    assignations    near 

mulberry-trees; 


THE   CHOICE   OF  KING   MIDAS. 


269 


Should  your  mistress  be  missing, 
it  shows  a  weak  head 

To  be  stabbing  yourself  till  you 
know  she  is  dead. 

Young  ladies !   you  should  n't  go 

strolling  about 
When  your  anxious  mammas  don't 

know  you  are  out, 
And  remember  that  accidents  often 

befall 
From      kissing      young      fellows 

through  holes  in  the  wall. 


THE  CHOICE  OF  KING  MIDAS. 

KING  MIDAS,  prince  of  Phrygia, 

several  thousand  years  ago, 
Was  a  very  worthy  monarch,   as 

the  classic  annals  show; 
You  may  read  'em  at  your  leisure, 

when  you  have  a  mind  to  doze, 
In  the   finest   Latin  verses,  or  in 

choice  Hellenic  prose. 

Now  this    notable    old   monarch, 

King  of  Phrygia,  as  aforesaid 
(Of  whose  royal  state  and  character 

there   might   be   vastly  more 

said), 
Though  he  occupied  a  palace,  kept 

a  very  open  door, 
And  had  still  a  ready  welcome  for 

the  stranger  and  the  poor. 

Now  it  chanced  that  old  Silenus, 

who,  it  seems,  had  lost  his  way, 
Following    Bacchus    through    the 

forest,  in  the  pleasant  month  of 

May 
Which  was  n't  very  singular,  for  at 

the  present  day 
The  followers  of  Bacchus  very  often 

go  astray), 


Came  at  last  to  good  King  Midas, 

who  received  him  in  his  court, 
Gave   him    comfortable   lodgings, 

and — to  cut  the  matter  short — 
With  as  much  consideration  treated 

wearv  old  Silenus, 
As  if  the  entertainment  were  for 

Mercury  or  Venus. 

Now  when  Bacchus  heard  the  story, 

he  proceeded  to  the  king, 
And  says  he:  "  By  old  Silenus  you 

have  done  the  handsome  thing; 
He 's   my  much-respected    tutor, 

who  has  ta  light  me  how  to  read, 
And  I  'm  sure  your  royal  kindness 

should  receive  its  proper  meed ; 

"  So  I  grant  you  full  permission  to 
select  your  own  reward. 

Choose  a  gift  to  suit  your  fancy, — 
something  worthy  of  a  lord  !  " 

"  Bully  Bacche !  "  cried  the  mon 
arch,  "if  I  do  not  make  too 
bold, 

Let  whatever  I  may  handle  be 
transmuted  into  gold !  " 

Midas,    sitting    down    to    dinner, 

sees  the  answer  to  his  wish, 
For  the  turbot  on  the  platter  turns 

into  a  golden  fish! 
And  the  bread  between  his  fingers 

is  no  longer  wheaten  bread, 
But  the  slice  he  tries  to  swallow  is 

a  wedge  of  gold  instead ! 


And  the  roast  he  takes  for  mutton 

fillshis  mouth  with  golden  meat, 
Very  tempting  to  the  vision,  but 

extremely  hard  to  eat; 
And  the  liquor  in  his  goblet,  very 

rare,  select,  and  old. 
Down  the  monarch'sthirsty  throttle 

runs  a  stream  of  liquid  gold! 


270 


PBAETHON. 


Quite  disgusted  with  his  dining,  lie 

betakes  him  to  his  bed : 
But,  alas !  the  golden  pillow  does 

n't  rest  his  weary  head 
Nor  does  all  the  gold  around  him 

soothe   the  monarch's   tender 

skin ; 
Golden  sheets,  to  sleepy  mortals, 

might  as  well  be  sheets  of  tin. 

Now  poor  Midas,  straight  repenting 

of  his  rash  and  foolish  choice, 
Went  to  Bacchus,  and  assured  him, 

in  a  very  plaintive  voice, 
That  his  golden  gift  was  working  in 

a  manner  most  unpleasant,  — 
And  the  god,  in  sheer  compassion, 

took  away  the  fatal  present. 


By  this  mythologic  story  we  are 

very  plainly  told, 
That,   though  gold  may  have   its 

uses,  there   are   better  things 

than  gold ; 
That  a  man  may  sell  his  freedom 

to  procure  the  shining  pelf; 
Andthat  Avarice,though  it  prosper, 

still  contrives  to  cheat  itself. 


PHAETHON; 

OR,    THE   AMATEUR  COACHMAN. 

DAN  PHAETHON  —  so  the  histories 

run  — 
Was  a  jolly  young  chap,  and  a  son 

of  the  Sun, — 
Or  rather  of  Phoebus;  but  as  to 

his  mother, 
Genealogists   make  a  deuce  of  a 

pother, 


Some  going  for  one,  and  some  for 
another. 

For  myself,  I  must  say,  as  a  care 
ful  explorer, 

This  roaring  young  blade  was  the 
son  of  Aurora ! 


Now  old  Father  Phosbus,  ere  rail 
ways  begun 

To  elevate  'funds   and   depreciate 
fun, 

Drove   a  very  fast   coach   by  the 

name  of  "  The  Sun  "  ; 
Running,  they  say, 
Trips  every  day 

(On  Sundays  and  all,  in  a  heathen 
ish  way), 

All    lighted    up    with    a    famous 
array 

Of  lanterns  that  shone  with  a  bril 
liant  display, 

And  dashing  along  like  a  gentle 
man's  "  shay," 

With  never  a  fare,  and  nothing  to 
pay ! 

Xow  Phaiithon  begged  of  his  dot 
ing  old  father 

To  grant  him  a  favor,  and  this  the 
rather, 

Since  some   one   had   hinted,   the 
youth  to  annoy, 

That  he   was  n't   by   any  means 
Phoebus's  boy! 

Intending,   the   rascally  son  of  a 

Kllni 

To  darken  the  brow  of  the  son  of 
the  Sun ! 

"  By  the  terrible  Styx!  "  said  the. 
angry  sire, 

While  his  eyes  tlashed  volumes  of 
fury  and  fire, 

"  To   prove   your    reviler    an   in 
famous  liar, 

I  swear  I  will  grant  you  whate'er 

you  desire!  '' 
"  Then  by  my  head," 
The  youngster  said, 


I'JIAI-.THON. 


271 


•'  I  '11  mount  the  coach  when  the 

horses  are  fed !  — 
For  there 's  nothing  I  'd  choose,  as 

I  'in  alive, 
Like   a   seat  on   the   box,    and  a 

dashing  drive!  " 
"Nay,  Pliaethon,  don't, — 
I. beg  you  won't,  — 
Just    stop   a  moment    and   think 

upon  't !  " 

"You're  quite  too  young,"  con 
tinued  the  sage, 
•'  To  tend  a  coach  at  your  tender 

age ! 

Besides,  you  see, 
'T  will  really  be 
Your    first    appearance    on    any 

singe! 

Desist,  my  child, 
The  cattle  are  wild, 
And   when   their    mettle   is   thor 
oughly  '  riled,' 
Depend   upon  't   the   coach  '11   be 

'  spiled,' - 
They  're  not  the  fellows  to  draw  it 

mild! 

Desist,  I  say. 
You  '11  rue  the  day,  — 
So    mind,  and    don't    be   foolish, 

I'ha!" 

But  the  youth  was  proud, 
And  swore  aloud, 
'T  was  just  the  thing  to  astonish 

the  crowd,  — 
He'd  have  the  horses  and  would 

n't  be  cowed ! 
In  vain  the  boy  was  cautioned  at 

large, 

He  called  for  the  chargers,  unheed 
ing  the  charge, 
And  vowed  that  any  young  fellow 

of  force 
Could  manage  a  dozen   coursers, 

of  course ! 
Now     Phoebus     felt    exceedingly 

sorry 

He  had  given  his  word  in  such  a 
hurry, 


But  having  sworn  by  the  Styx,  no 
doubt 

He  was  in  for.  it  now,  and  could  n't 
back  out. 

So  calling  Phaethon  up  in  a  trice, 

He  gave   the  youth   a   bit  of  ad 
vice  :  — 
"  Parce  stimvlis,  utere  loris  !  " 

(A  'stage  direction,'  of  which  the 
core  is, 

Don't    use    the    whip, — they  're 
ticklish  things,  — 

But,  whatever  you  do,  hold  on  to 
the  strings !) 

"  Remember  the  rule  of  the  Jehu- 
tribe  is, 
Medio  tutissimus  ibis, 

As    the    Judge     remarked     to    a 
rowdy  Scotchman, 

Who  was  going  to  quod  between 
two  watchmen ! 

So  mind  your  eye,  and  spare  your 
goad, 

Be  shy  of  the  stones,  and  keep  in 
"the  road ! " 

Now   Phaethon,    perched    in    the 

coachman's  place, 
Drove  off  the  steeds  at  a  furious 

pace, 

Fast  as  coursers  running  a  race, 
Or  bounding  along   in   a   steeple 
chase! 
Of  whip  and  shout  there  was  no 

lack, 

"  Crack  —  whack  — 
Whack  —  crack." 
Resounded  along  the  horses'  back  ! 
Frightened   beneath   the    stinging 

lash, 
Cutting  their  flanks    in  many   a 

gash, 
On.  on   thev  sped   as   swift  as   a 

flash,' 
Through  thick  and  thin  away  they 

dash, 
(Such     rapid    driving    is    always 

rash ! ) 


272 


POLYPHEMUS  AND    ULYSSES. 


When  all  at  once,  with  a  dreadful 

crash, 
The  whole  "establishment"  went 

to  smash ! 
And  Phaethon,  he, 
As  all  agree, 

Off  the  coach  was  suddenly  hurled, 
Into  a  puddle,    and    out    of   the 
world ! 

MORAL. 

Don't  rashly   take   to    dangerous 

courses,  — 
Xor  set  it  down  in  your  table  of 

forces, 
That  any  one  man  equals  any  four 

horses ! 

Don't  swear  by  the  Styx!  — 
It  's  one  of  Old  Nick's 
Diabolical  tricks 

To  get  people  into  a  regular  "fix," 
And    hold    'em    there   as   fast  as 
bricks ! 


POLYPHEMUS  AND  ULYSSES. 

A  VERY  remarkable  history  this  is 
Of  one  Polyphemus   and  Captain 

Ulysses: 
The  latter  a  hero,   accomplished 

and  bold, 
The  former  a  knave,  and  a  fright 

to  behold,  — 
A  horrid  big  giant  who  lived  in  a 

den, 
And  dined  every  day  on  a  couple 

of  men, 
Ate  a  woman   for  breakfast,  and 

(dreadful  to  see!) 
Had  a  nice  little  baby  served  up 

with  his  tea; 
Indeed,    if   there  's   truth   in   the 

sprightly  narration 
Of  Homer,  a  poet  of  some  reputa 
tion. 


Or  Virgil,  a  writer  but  little  infe. 
rior, 

And  in  some  things,  perhaps,  the 
other's  superior,  — 

Polyphemus  was  truly  a  terrible 
creature, 

In  manners  and  morals,  in  form 
and  in  feature; 

For  law  and  religion  he  cared  not 
a  copper, 

And,  in  short,  led  a  life  that  was 
very  improper:  — 

What  made  him  a  very  remark 
able  guy, 

Like  the  late  Mr.  Thompson,  he  'd 
only  one  eye; 

But  that  was  a  whopper,  —  a  ter 
rible  one,  — 

"  As  large  "  (Virgil  says)  "  as  the 
disk  of  the  sun;  " 

A  brilliant,  but  rather  extravagant 
figure, 

Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  his 
eye  was  much  bigger 

Than  yours,  —  or  even  the  orb  of 
your  sly 

Old  bachelor-friend  who  's  "a 
wife  in  his  eye." 

Ulysses,  the  hero  1  mentioned  be 
fore, 

Was  shipwrecked,  one  day,  on  the 
pestilent  shore 

Where  the  Cyclops  resided,  along 
with  their  chief, 

Polyphemus,  the  terrible  man-eat 
ing  thief, 

Whose  manners  they  copied,  and 
laws  they  obeyed, 

While  driving  their  horrible  canni 
bal  trade. 


With  many  expressions  of  civil 
regret 

That  Ulysses  had  got  so  unpleas 
antly  wet, 

With  many  expressions  of  pleasure 
profound 


POLYPHEMUS  AND    ULYSSES. 


273 


That  all  had  escaped  being  thor 
oughly  drowned, 

The  rascal  declared  he  was  "  fond 
of  the  brave," 

And  invited  the  strangers  all  home 
to  his  cave. 

Here  the  cannibal  king,  with  as 
'little  remorse 

As  an  omnibus  feels  for  the  death 
of  a  horse. 

Seized,  crushed,  and  devoured  a 
brace  of  the  Greeks, 

AS  a  WeWnnan  would  swallow  a 
couple  of  leeks. 

Or  a  Fivnchmaii,  supplied  with 
his  usual  prog, 

Would  punish  the  hams  of  a  favor 
ite  frog. 

Dashed  a  d  smashed  against  the 
stones, 

He  broke  their  bodies  and  cracked 
their  bones, 

Minding  no  more  their  moans  and 
groans 

Thau  the  grinder  heeds  his  organ's 
tones ! 

With  purple  gore  the  pavement 
swims. 

While  the  giant  crushes  their 
crackling  limbs, 

And  poor  Ulysses  trembles  with 
fright 

At  the  horrid  sound,  and  the  hor 
rid  sight.  — 

Trembles  lest  the  monster  grim 

Should  make  his  "  nuts  and  rai 
sins  "  of  him ! 
And,  really,  since 
The  man  was  a  Prince, 

It's  riot  very  odd  that  his  Highness 
should  wince 

(Especially  after  such  very  strong 
hints), 

At  the  cannibal's  manner,  as 
rather  more  free 

Than  his  Highness  at  court  was 
accustomed  to  see! 


But  the  crafty  Greek,  to   the  ty 
rant's  hurt 
(Though  he  didn't  deserve  so  fine 

a  dessert ), 
Took   a  dozen   of  wine  from  his 

leather  trunk, 
And  plied  the  giant  until  he  was 

drunk ! — 
Drunker  than  any  one  you  or  / 

know, 
Who    buys    his  "Rhenish"  with 

ready  rhino,  — 
Exceedingly      drunk,    —  sepultus 

vino  ! 


Gazing  a  moment  upon  the  sleeper, 
Ulysses   cried:  "Let's    spoil    his 

peeper ! — 
'T  will   put  him,  my  boys,    in  a 

pretty  trim, 
If  we   can   manage  to  douse  his 

glim!  " 
So,  taking  a  spar  that  was  lying 

in  sight, 
They  poked  it  into  his  "  forward 

light," 
And   gouged   away  with    furious 

spite. 
Ramming  and  jamming  with  all 

their  might! 


In  vain  the  giant  began  to  roar, 
And  even  swore 
That  he  never  before 

Had  met,  in  his  lite,  such  a  terri 
ble  bore. 

They  only  plied  the  auger  the  more, 

And  mocked  his  grief  with  a  ban 
tering  cry, 

"Don't  babble  of  pain,  — it 's  all 
in  your  eye  !  " 

Until,  alas  for  the  wretched  Cy 
clops! 

He  gives  a  groan,  and  out  his  eye 
pops  : 


274 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYD1CE. 


Leaving  the  knave,   one  needn't 

be  told, 
As  blind  as  a  puppy  of  three  days 

old. 

The   rest  of  the  tale   I  can't  tell 

now,  — 
Except  that  Ulysses  got  out  of  the 

row, 
With  the  rest  of  his  crew,  — it  'sno 

matter  how ; 
While   old   Polyphemus,  until  he 

was  dead, — 
Which   was  n't    till    many    years 

after,  't  is  said,  — 
Had  a  grief  in  his  heart  and  a  hole 

in  his  head ! 


Don't  use  strong  drink,  —  pray  let 

me  advise,  — 
It 's  bad  for  the  stomach,  and  ruins 

the  eyes ; 
Don't    impose   upon   sailors   with 

land-lubber  tricks, 
Or  you  '11  catch  it  some  day  like  a 

thousand  of  bricks ! 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 

SIR  ORPHEUS,  whom  the  poets 
have  sung 

In  every  metre  and  every  tongue 

Was,  you  may  remember,  a  famous 
musician,  — 

At  least  for  a  youth  in  his  pagan 
condition,  — 

For  historians  tell  he  played  on  his 
shell 

From  morning  till  night,  so  re 
markably  well 

That  his  music  created  a  regular 
spell 


On  trees  and  stones  in  forest  and 

dell! 
What  sort  of  an   instrument  his 

could  be 
Is  really  more  than  is  known  to 

me,  — 
For  none  of  the  books  have  told, 

d'  ye  see ! 
It  's   very    certain  those   heathen 

"swells" 

Knew  nothing  at  all  of  oyster-shells, 
And  it 's  clear  Sir  Orpheus  never 

could  own  a 

Shell  like  tliose  they  make  in  Cre 
mona  ; 
But  whatever  it  was,   to  "move 

the  stones" 
It  must    have   shelled   out    some 

powerful  tones, 
And  entitled  the  player  to  rank  in 

my  rhyme 
As  the  very  Vieuxtemps  of  the  very 

old  time ! 

But  alas  for  the  joys  of  this  mu 
table  life! 

Sir  Orpheus  lost  his  beautiful 
wife,  — 

Eurydice,  —  who  vanished  one  day 

From  Earth,  in  a  very  unpleasant 
way ! 

It  chanced,  as  near  as  I  can  deter 
mine, 

Through  one  of  those  vertebrated 
vermin 

That  lie  in  the  grass  so  prettily 
curled, 

Waiting  to  "snake"  you  out  of 
the  world ! 

And  the  poets  tell  she  went  to  — 
well  — 

A  place  where  Greeks  and  Romans 
dwell 

After  they  burst  their  mortal  shell; 

A  region  that  in  the  deepest  shade 
is, 

And  known  by  the  classical  name 
of  Hades,  — 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE. 


275 


A  different  place  from  the  terrible 

furnace 
Of  Tartarus,  down  below  Avernus. 

Now,  having  a  heart  uncommon 
ly  stout, 

Sir  Orpheus  did  n't  go  whining 
about, 

Nor  marry  another,  as  you  would, 
no  doubt, 

But  made  up  his  mind  to  fiddle  her 
out! 

But  near  the  gate  he  had  to  wait, 

For  there  in  state  old  Cerberus  sate. 

A  three-headed  dog,  as  cruel  as 
Fate, 

Guarding  the  entrance  earlv  and 
late ; 

A  beast  so  sagacious  and  very 
voracious, 

So  uncommonly  sharp  and  ex 
tremely  rapacious. 

That  it  really  may  be  doubted 
whether 

He  'd  have  his  match,  should  a 
common  tether 

Unite  three  aldermen's  heads  to 
gether! 

But  Orpheus,  not  in  the  least 
afraid, 

Tuned  up  his  shell,  and  quickly 
essayed 

What  could  be  done  with  a  sere 
nade, 

In  short,  so  charming  an  air  he 
played, 

HP  quite  succeeded  in  overreaching 

The  cunning  cur,  by  musical  teach 
ing, 

And  put  him  to  sleep  as  fast  as 
preaching! 

And  now  our  musical  champion, 

Orpheus, 

Having  given  the  janitor  over  to 
Morpheus, 


Went  groping  around  among  the 

ladies 
Who  throng  the  dismal  halls  of 

Hades, 

Calling  aloud 
To  the  shady  crowd, 
In  a  voice  as  shrill  as  a  martial  fife, 
"  (),  tell  me  where  in  hell  is  my 

wife!  " 

( A  natural  question,  'tis  very  plain, 
Although  it  may  sound  a  little  pro 
fane.) 

"  Eury dice !  Eu-ryd-i-ce  !  " 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be, — 
(A    singular    sound,    and    funny 

withal, 
In  a  place  where  nobodv  rides  at 

all!) 

"  Eurydice !  —  Eurydice ! 
0,  come,  my  dear,  along  with  me !  " 
And  then  he  played  so  remarkably 

fine 

That  it  really  might  be  called  di 
vine,  — 

For  who  can  show, 
On  earth  or  below, 
Such  wonderful  feats  in  the  musi 
cal  line '{ 


E'en  Tantalus  ceased  from  trying 

to  sip 

The  cup  that  flies  from  his  arid  lip; 
Ixion,  too,  the  magic  could  feel, 
And,  for  a  moment,   blocked  his 

wheel ; 
Poor  Sisyphus,  doomed  to  tumble 

and  toss 
The  notable  stone  that  gathers  no 

moss, 
Let  go  his  burden,  and  turned  to 

hear 
The  charming  sounds  that  ravished 

his  ear; 

And  even  the  Furies,  —  those  terri 
ble  shrews 
Whom  no  one  before  could  ever 

amuse,  — 


276 


JUPITER  AND  DANAE. 


Those  strong-bodied  ladies  with 
strong-minded  views 

Whom  even  the  Devil  would  doubt 
less  refuse, 

Were  his  Majesty  only  permitted 
to  choose,  — 

Each  felt  for  a  moment  her  nature 
desert  her, 

And  wept  like  a  girl  o'er  the  "  Sor 
rows  of  Werther." 

And  still   Sir   Orpheus  chanted 

his  song. 
Sweet  and  clear  and  strong  and 

long, 

"  Eurydice !  —  Eurydice !  " 
He  cried  as  loud  as  loud  could  be; 
And  Echo,  taking  up  the  word, 
Kept  it  up  till  the  lady  heard, 
And  came  with  joy  to  meet  her 

lord. 
And  he  led  her  along  the  infernal 

route, 

Until  he  had  got  her  almost  out, 
When,  suddenly  turning  his  head 

about 
(To  take  a  peep  at  his  wife,  no 

doubt), 

He  gave  a  groan, 
Eor  the  lady  was  gone, 
And  had  left  him  standing  there 

all  alone! 

For  by  an  oath  the  gods  had  bound 
Sir  Orpheus  not  to  look  around 
Till   he  was   clear  of  the   sacred 

ground, 
If  he  'd  have  Eurydice  safe   and 

sound ; 
For  the  moment  he  did  an  act  so 

rash 
His  wife  would  vanUli  as  quick  as 

a  flash! 


Young  women !  beware,  for  good 
ness'  sake, 
Of  every  sort  of  "  sarpent  snake  "  ; 


Remember  the  rogue  is  apt  to  de 
ceive, 

And  played  the  deuce  with  Grand 
mother  Eve ! 

Young  men !  it 's  a  critical  thing 

to  go 

Exactly  right  with  a  lady  in  tow; 
But  when  you  are  in  the  propeb 

track, 
Just  go  ahead,  and  never  look  back ! 


JUPITER  AND  DANAE: 

OR,    HOW   TO   WIN   A   WOMAN. 

IMPERIAL,  Jove,   who,   with  won 
derful  art, 
Was  one  of  those  suitors  that 

always  prevail, 
Once  made  an  assault  on  so  flinty  a 

heart 

That  he  feared  for  a  while  he 
was  destined  to  fail. 

A  beautiful  m'aiden,  Miss  Danae 

by  name. 
The  Olympian  lover  endeavored 

to  win; 
But  she  peeped  from  the  casement 

whenever  he  came, 
Exclaiming,     "You're      hand 
some,  but  cannot  come  in  !  " 

With  sweet   adulation  he   tickled 

her  ear; 

But  still  at  her  window  she  quiet 
ly  sat, 
And    said,    though    his    speeches 

wre  pleasant  to  hear, 
She  'd  r.hvuys  been  used  to  such 
horn  ige  as  that ! 


VENUS  AND    VULCAN. 


277 


Then   lie   spoke,  in  a  fervid   End 

rapturous  strain, 
Of   a    bosom    consuming    with 

burning  desire; 
But    his    eloquent    pleading    was 

wholly  in  vain,  — 
She    thought    it    imprudent    to 
meddle  with  fire! 

Then  he  begged  her  in  mercy  to 

pity  his  case, 
And    spoke    of   his    dreadfully 

painful  condition; 
But  the  lady  replied,  with  a  sor 
rowful  face, 

She  was  only  a  maiden,  and  not 
a  physician! 

In  vain  with  these  cunning  conven 
tional  snares, 
To  win  her  the  gallant  Lothario 

strove ; 
In  spite  of  his  smiles,  and  his  tears, 

and  his  prayers, 

She  couldn't,  she  wouldn't,  be 
courted  by  Jove ! 

At  last  he  contrived,  —  so  the  story 

is  told,  — 
By  some  means  or  other,    one 

evening,  to  pour 
Plump  into  her  apron  a  shower  of 

gold, 

Which  opened  her  heart, — and 
unbolted  her  door ! 


Hence  suitors  may  learn  that  in 

matters  of  love 
"T  is  idle  in  manners  or  merit  to 

trust ; 
The  only  sure  way  is  to  imitate 

Jove,  — 

Just  open  your  purse,  and  come 
down  with  the  dust. 


VENUS  AND   VULCAN: 

OB,    THE   MYSTERY   EXPLAINED. 

WHEN  the  peerless  Aphrodite 
First  appeared  among  her  kin, 

What  a  nutter  of  excitement 
All  the  goddesses  were  in ! 

How  the  gods,  in  deep  amazement. 

Bowed    before    the    Queen    of 

Beauty, 
And  in  loyal  adoration 

Proffered  each  his  humble  duty ! 

Phoebus,  first,  to  greet  her  coming, 
Met  her  with  a  grand  oration; 

Mars,     who     ne'er     before     had 

trembled. 
Showed  the  plainest  trepidation! 

Hermes  fairly  lost  his  cunning, 
Gazing  at  the  new  Elysian; 

Plutus  quite  forgot  his  money 
In  the  rapture  of  his  vision! 

Even  Jove  was  deeply  smitten 
(So  the  Grecian  poets  tell  us), 

And,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
Juno  was  extremely  jealous ! 

Staid  Minerva  thought  her  silly; 

Chaste  Diana  called  her  vain; 
But  not  one  of  all  the  ladies 

Dared    to     say    that    she    wns 
"plain  " ! 

Surely  such  a  throng  of  lovers 
Never  mortal  yet  could  boast; 

Everywhere  throughout  Olympus 
"  Charming  Venus!  "   was  the 
toast ! 

Even  Vulcan,  lame  and  ugly, 
Paid    the    dame  his    awkward 
court ; 


278 


RICHARD    OF   GLOSTER. 


But  the  goddess,  in  derision, 
Turned  his  passion  into  sport; 

Laughed  aloud  at  all  his  pleading, 
Bade  him  wash  his  visage  sooty, 

And  go  wooing  with  the  Harpies, 
What  had  he  to  do  with  Beauty  ? 

Well  —  how  fared  it  with  the  god 
dess  ? 

Sure,  the  haughty  queen  oflove, 
Choosing  one  to  suit  her  fancy, 

Married  Phoebus,  Mars,  or  Jove  V 

No !  —  at  last  —  as  often  happens 
To  coquettes  of  lower  station  — 

Venus  found  herself  neglected, 
With  a  damaged  reputation; 

And  esteeming  any  husband 
More  desirable  than  none, 

She  was  glad  to  marry  Vulcan 
As  the  best  that  could  be  done ! 

L' EN  voi. 

Hence  you  learn  the  rcai  reason, 
Which  your  wonder  oft  arouses, 

Why  so  many  handsome  women 
Have  such  very  ugly  spouses ! 


RICHARD    OF    GLOSTKR. 


A   TRAVESTY. 

PERHAPS,  my  dear  boy,  you  may 
never  have  heard 

Of  that  wicked  old  monarch,  King 
Richard  the  Third,  — 

Whose  actions  were  often  extreme 
ly  absurd; 


And  who  led  such  a  sad  life, 
Such  a  wanton  and  mad  life; 

Indeed,  I  may  say,  such  a  wretch 
edly  bad  life, 

I  suppose   I  am   perfectly  safe  in 
declaring, 

There  was  ne'er  such  a  monster  of 
infamous  daring. 

In  all  sorts  of  crime  he  was  wholly 
unsparing; 

In  pride  and  ambition  was  quite 
beyond  bearing; 

And  had  a  bad  habit  of  cursing 
and  swearing. 

I  must  own,  my  dear  boy,  I  have 
more  than  suspected 

The  King's  education  was  rather 
neglected ; 

And  that  at  your  school  with  any 
two  "  Dicks  " 

Whom  your  excellent  teacher  diur- 
iially  pricks 

In  his  neat  little  tables,  in  order  to 
fix 

Each  pupil's  progression  with  nu 
meral  nicks, 

Master  Richard  Y.  Cluster  would 
often  have  heard 

His  standing  recorded  as  "  Richard 
—  I/it  t/iinl  !  " 

But  whatever  of  learning  his  Maj 
esty  had, 

'T  is  clear  the  King's  English  was 

shockingly  bad. 
At  the  slightest  pretence 
Of  disloyal  otl'enro, 

His  anger  exceeded  all  reason  or 
sense; 

And,  having  no  need  to  foster  or 
nurse  it,  lie 

Would  open  his  wrath,  then,  as  if 
to  disperse  it,  he 

Would  scatter  his  curses  like  Col 
lege  degrees ; 
And,  quite  at  his  ease, 
Conferred  his  "c/-<Z's," 

As  plenty  and  cheap  as  a  young 
University ! 


RICHARD    OF   GLOSTER. 


279 


And  yet  Richard's  tongue  was  re 
markable  smooth, 

Could  utter  a  lie  quite  as  easy  as 
truth 

(Another  bad  habit  he  got  in  his 
youth), 

And  had,  on  occasion,  a  powerful 
battery 

Of  plausible  phrases  and  eloquent 
flattery, 

Which  gave  him,  my  boy,  in  that 
barbarous  day 

'Things  are  different  now,  I  am 
happy  to  say), 

Over  feminine  hearts  a  most  peril 
ous  sway. 

The  women,  in  spite  of  an  odious 
hump 

Which  he  wore  on  his  back,  all 
thought  him  a  trump; 

And  just  when  he'd  played  them 
the  scurviest  trick, 

They  M  swear  in  their  hearts  that 
this  crooked  old  stick, — 

This  treacherous,  dangerous,  disso 
lute  Dick. 

For  honor  and  virtue  beat  Cato  all 
hollow ; 

Arid  in  figure  and  face  was  another 
Apollo ! 


He  murdered  their  brothers, 
And  fathers  and  mothers; 
And,    worse    than     all    that,    he 

slaughtered  by  dozens 
His  own  royal  uncles  and  nephews 

and  cousins; 
And  then,  in  the  cunningest  sort 

of  orations, 

In  smooth  conversations, 
And  flattering  ovations, 
Made  love  to  the  principal  female 

relations! 
'T  was   very   improper,    my   boy, 

you  must  know, 

For  the  son  of  a  King  to  behave 
himself  so; 


And  you  Ml  scarcely  believe  what 

the  chronicles  show 
Of  his  wonderful  wooings, 
And  infamous  doings; 
But  here  's  an  exploit  that  he  cer 
tainly  diil  do,  — 
Killed  his  own  cousin  Ned, 
As  he  slept  in  his  bed, 
And  married,  next  dav,  the  dis 
consolate  widow! 


I  don't  understand  how  such  ogres 
arise, 

But     beginning,     perhaps,     with 
things  little  in  size, 

Such  as  torturing  beetles  and  blue 
bottle-flies, 

Or  scattering  snuff  in   a  poodle- 
dog's  eyes,  — 

King  Richard  had  grown  so  wan 
tonly  cruel, 

He  minded  a  murder  no  more  than 
a  duel; 

He  'd  indulge,  on  the  slightest  pre 
tence  or  occasion, 

In  his  favorite  amusement  of  De 
capitation, 

Until  "Off  with  his  head!" 
It  is  credibly  said. 

From   his  Majesty's  mouth  came 
as  easy  ami  pat 

As   from  an   old  constable,  "  Off 

with  his  hat !  " 
One  really  shivers, 
And  fairly  quivers, 

To  think  of  the  treatment  of  Grey 
and  Rivers 

And   Hastings    and   Vaughn   and 
other  good  livers, 

All  suddenly  sent,  at  the  tap  of  a 
drum, 

From  the  Kingdom  of  England  to 
Kingdom-Come! 

Of  Buckingham  doomed  to  a  tragi 
cal  end 

For  being  the  tyrant's   particular 
friend ; 


280 


RICHARD    OF   GLOSTER. 


Of  Clarence  who  died,  it  is  mourn 
ful  to  think, 

Of  wine  that  he  was  n't  permitted 
to  drink; 

And  the  beautiful  babies  of  royal 
blood, 

Two  little  White  Roses  both  nipt  in 
the  bud ; 

And  silly  Queen  Anne,  —  what 
sorrow  it  cost  her 

(And  served  her  right!)  for  daring 
to  foster 

The  impudent  suit  of  this  Richard 
of  Gloster, 

Who,  instead  of  conferring  a  royal 
gratuity, 

A  dower,  or  even  a  decent  Anne- 
uity, 

Just  gave  her  a  portion  of — some 
thing  or  other 

That  made  her  as  quiet  as  Pha 
raoh's  mother! 

Ah  Richard !  you  're  going  it  quite 

too  fast ; 

Your  doom  is  slow,  but  it 's  com 
ing  at  last; 
Your  bloody  crown 
Will  topple  down, 
And  you  '11  be  done  uncommonly 

brown ! 

Your  foes  are  thick, 
My  daring  Dick, 
And  Richmond,   a  prince,   and  a 

regular  brick, 

Is  after  you  now  with  a  very  sharp 
stick! 

On  Bosworth  field  the  armies  to 
night 

Are  pitching  their  tents  in  each 
other's  sight; 

And  to-morrow !  to-morrow !  they 
're  going  to  fight ! 

And  now  King  Richard  has  gone 

to  bed ; 

But  e'en  in  his  sleep 
He  cannot  keep 


The  past  or  the  future  out  of  his 

head. 

In  his  deep  remorse 
Each  mangled  corse 
Of  all  he  had  slain,  —  or,  what  was 

worse, 

Their  ghosts,  —  came  up  in  terri 
ble  force, 

And  greeted  his  ear  with  unpleas 
ant  discourse, 
Until,  with  a  scream, 
He  woke  from  his  dream, 
And  shouted  aloud  for  "another 
horse!  " 

Perhaps  you  may  think,  my  little 
dear, 

King  Richard's  request  was  rather 
queer; 

But  I  Ml  presently  make  it  exceed 
ingly  clear:  — 

THE  ROYAL  SLEEPER  WAS  OVER 
FED  ! 

I  mean  to   say   that,  against  his 

habit, 
He  'd  eaten  Welsh-rabbit 

With  very  bad  whiskey  on  going 
to  bed. 

/'ve  had  the  Night-Mare  with  hor 
rible  force, 

And  much  prefer  a  different  horse ! 

But  see!    the   murky  night   is 

gone! 
The  Morn  is  up,  and  the  Fight  is 

on! 
The   Knights    are    engaging,    the 

warfare  is  waging, 
On  the  right,  on  the  left,  the  battle 

is  raging; 

King  Richard  is  down  ! 
Will  he  save  his  crown? 
There 's  a  crack  in  it  now !  —  he  's 

beginning  to  bleed! 
Aha!  King   Richard  has  lost  his 

steed ! 

(At  a  moment  like  this  'tis  a  ter 
rible  need ! ) 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR. 


281 


He  shouts  aloud  with  thundering 

force, 
And  offers  a  very  high  price  for  a 

horse, 
But  it 's  all  in  vain,  —  the  battle  is 

done,  — 
The  day  is  lost !  —  and  the  day  is 

won !  — 
And     Richmond    is     King!     and 

Richard's  a  corse ! 


Remember,  my  boy,  that  moral 
enormities 

Are  apt  to  attend  corporeal  de 
formities. 

Whatever  you  have,  or  whatever 
you  hick, 

Beware  of  getting  a  crook  in  your 
back ; 

And,  while  you  're  about  it,  I  'd 
very  much  rather 

You  'd  grow  tall  and  superb,  i.  e. 
copy  your  father ! 

Don't  learn  to  be  cruel,  pray  let 
me  advise, 

By  torturing  beetles  and  blue 
bottle-flies, 

Or  scattering  snuff  in  a  poodle- 
dog's  eyes. 

If  you  ever  should  marry,  remem 
ber  to  wed 

A  handsome,  plump,  modest, 
sweet-spoken,  well-bred, 

And  sensible  maiden  of  twenty,  — 
instead 

Of  a  widow  whose  husband  is  re 
cently  dead ! 

If  you  'd  shun  in  your  naps  those 
horrible  Incubi, 

Beware  what  you  eat,  and  be  care 
ful  what  drink  you  buy ; 

Or  else  you  may  see,  in  your 
sleep's  perturbations, 


Some  old  and  uncommonly  ugly 

relations, 
Who  '11  be  very  apt  to  disturb  your 

nutations 
By  unpleasant  allusions  and  rude 

observations ! 


OTHELLO,   THE   MOOR. 

ROMANCES  of  late  are  so  wretch 
edly  poor, 

Here  goes' for  the  old  one :  —  Othel 
lo,  the  Moor; 
A  warrior  of  note,  and  by  no  means 

a  boor, 

Though  the  skin  on  his  face 
Was  as  black  as  the  ace 
Of  spades;  or  (a  simile  nearer  the 

case) 
Say,  bLck  as  the  Deuce;  or  black 

as  a  brace 
Of  very  black  cats  in  a  very  dark 

place ! 

That 's  the  German  idea; 
But  how  he  could  be  a 
Regular  negro  don't    seem    very 

clear; 

For  Horace,  you  know, 
A  great  while  ago, 
Put  a  sentiment  forth  which  we  all 

must  agree  to: 
"  flic  niger  est ;  hunc  tu,  Romane, 

cave  to!  " 
(A  nigger's  a  rascal  that  one  ought 

to  see  to.) 
I  rather,  in  sooth, 
Think  it  nearer  the  truth 
To  take  the  opinion  of  young  Mr- 
Booth, 

Who  makes  his  Othello 
A  grim-looking  fellow 
Of  a  color  compounded  of  lamp 
black  and  yellow. 


282 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR. 


Now  Captain  Othello,  a  true  son  of 
Mars, 

The  foe  being  vanquished,  returned 
from  the  wars, 

All    covered    with    ribbons,    and 
garters,  and  stars, 

Not  to  mention  a  score  of  magnifi 
cent  scars; 

And  calling,  one  day, 
In  a  neighborly  way, 

On  Signor  Brabantio,  — one  of  the 
men 

Who  figured  in  Venice  as  Senator 

then,  — 

Was  invited  to  tell 
Of  all  that  befell 

Himself    and    his    friends    while 
campaigning  so  well, 

From  the  time  of  his  boyhood  till 
now  he  was  grown 

The    greatest    of    Captains    that 

Venice  had  known. 
As  a  neighbor  should  do, 
He  ran  it  quite  through, 

(I  would  n't  be  bail  it  was  all  of  it 
true,) 

Recounting,    with     ardor,      such 
trophies  and  glories, 

Among   Ottoman   rebels   and  Cy 
prian  tories. 

Not  omitting  a  parcel  of  cock-and- 
bull  stories,  — 

That  he  quite  won  the  heart  of  the 
Senator's  daughter, 

Who,  like  most  of  the  sex.  had    a 

passion  for  slaughter: 
And  was  wondrously  bold 
In  battles,  —  as  told 

By  brilliant    romancers,  who  pic 
ture  in  gold 

What,  in  its  own  hue,  you  'd  be 
shocked  to  behold. 


Now  Captain  Othello,   who  never 

had  known  a 
Young  lady   so   lovely  as   "  Fair 

Desdemona," 


Not    even  his  patroness,  Madam 

Bellona,  — 

Was  delighted,  one  day, 
At  hearing  her  say, 
Of  all  men  in  the  world  he  'd  the 

charmingest  way 
Of  talking  to  women;  and  if  any 

one  should, 
(Tho'  she  did  n't  imagine  that  any 

one  would,  — 
For  where,  to  be  sure,  was  another 

who  could?) 
But  if —  and  suppose  —  a  lover 

came  to  her, 
And  told  her  his  story,  't  would 

certainly  woo  her. 
With  so  lucid  a  hint, 
The  dickens  were  in 't, 
If  he  could  n't  have  read  her  as 

easy  as  print ; 
And  thus  came  of  course,  —  but  as 

to  the  rest,  — 
The  billing  and  cooing  I  leave  to 

be  guessed,  — 
And  how,  when  their  passion  was 

fairly  confessed, 
They  sent  for  a   parson  to  render 

them  "  blest,"  — 
Although  it  was  done,  I  am  sorry 

to  say, 
In  what  Mrs.  P.  —  had  it  happened 

to-day  — 
Would   be   likely  to  call  a  clam- 

destinij  way ! 
I  cannot  recount 
One  half  the  amount 
Of  curses  that  burst  from  his  car 
diac  fount 
When   Signor    Brabantio    learned 

that  the  Moor 
Had  married  his  daughter;  "  How 

dared  he  to  woo  her? 
The  sooty-skinned   knave, — thus 

to  blight  and  undo  her? 
With  what  villanous  potions   the 

scoundrelly  sinner 
Must  have  poisoned  her  senses  in 

order  to  win  her ! ' ' 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR. 


283 


And  more  of  the  same,  — 

But  my  language  is  lame, 

E'en  a  fisfiwoman's  tongue  were 

decidedly  tame 
A  tithe  of  the   epithets  even  to 

name, 
Compounded  of  scorn  and  derision 

.     and  hate, 
Which  Signoi  Brabantio  poured  on 

the  pat  2 
Of  the   beautiful  girl's  nigritudi- 

nous  mate ! 
I  cannot  delay 
To  speak  ol  the  wey 
The  matter  was  settled;  suffice  it 

to  say 
'T  was  exactly  th.3  cams  as  you 

see  in  a  nlay, 
Where    the    lady    persuades    her 

affectionate  sire 
That  the   fault   was    her  own,  — 

which  softens  his  ire, 
And,  though  for  a  season  extreme 
ly  annoyed. 
At  last   he    approves  —  what    he 

cannot  avoid! 


Philosophers  toll  us 
A  mind  like  Othello's  — 
Strong,  manly,  and  brave  — is  n't 

apt  to  be  jealous; 
But  now,  you  must  know, 
The  Moor  had  a  foe, 
lago,  by  name,  who  concealed  with 

a  show 
Of  honest  behavior  the  wickedest 

heart 
That    Satan   e'er   filled  with  his 

treacherous  art, 
And  who,  as  u  friend, 
Was  accustomed  to  lend 
His   gifts   to   the  most  diabolical 

end, 
To  wit,  the  destruction  of  Captain 

Othello, 

Desdemona,  his  wife,  and  an  ex 
cellent  fellow, 


One  Cassio,  a  soldier,  —  too  apt  to 

get  mellow,  — 
But  as  honest  a  man  as  ever  broke 

bread, 
A  bottle  of  wine,  or  an  Ottoman 

head. 


'T  is  a  verv  long  story, 

And  would  certainly  "bore  ye, 

Being    not    very    brilliant     with 
grandeur  or  glory, 

How  the  wicked  lago  contrived  to 
abuse 

The  gallant  Othello  respecting  his 

views 

Of  his  fair  lady's  honor; 
Reflecting  upon  her 

In  damnable   hints,   and  by  frag 
ments  of  news 

About  palming  and  presents,  him 
self  had  invented, 

Until  the  poor  husband  was  fairly 
demented, 

And  railed  at  his  wife,  like  a  cow 
ardly  varlet, 

And  gave  her  an  epithet,  —  rhym 
ing  with  scarlet, 

And  prated  of  Cassio  with  virulent 
spleen, 

And    called    for   a    handkerchief 
some  one  had  seen, 

And   wanted   to   know    what  the 
deuce  it  could  mean  'i 

And  —  to  state  the  case  honestly  — 
really  acted 

111  the   manner  that   women  call 
"raving-distracted!  " 


It  is  sad  to  record 
How  her  lunatic  lord 
Spurned  all  explanation  the  dame 

could  attord, 

And  still  kept  repeating  the  odious 
word, 


284 


OTHELLO,    THE  MOOR. 


So  false,  and  so  foul  to  a  virtuous 

ear, 
That  I  could  n't  be  tempted    to 

mention  it  here. 
'T  is  sadder  to  tell 
Of  the  crime  that  befell, 
When,  moved,  it  would  seem,  by 

the  demons  of  hell, 
He  seized  a  knife, 
And,  kissing  his  wife, 
Extinguished  the  light  of  her  inno 
cent  life; 
And  how,   also,  before   the  poor 

body  was  cool4 
He  found  he  had  acted  asvillany's 

tool, 

And   died    exclaiming,  "0  fool! 
fool!  FOOL!  " 


MORAL. 

Young  Indies!  — beware  of  hasty 

connections; 
And    don't    marry    suitors    with 

swarthy  complexions; 
For  though  they  may  chance  to  be 

capital  fellows, 
Depend  upon  it,  they  're  apt  to  be 

jealous ! 

Young  gentlemen !  pray  recollect, 
if  you  can, 

To  give  a  wide  berth  to  a  meddle 
some  man ; 

And  horsewhip  the  knave  who 
would  poison  your  life 

By  breeding  distrust  between  you 
and  your  wife ! 


SONNETS. 


SOST^TETS. 


THRKE  LOVES. 


I   HAVE   known  various  loves  of 

women.     One 
Gave  all  her  soul  (she  said),  but 

kept  intact 
Her  marble  lips,  and  ever  seemed 

to  shun 
Love's  blandishments,  as  if  his 

lightest  act 
Were   fatal   to  his   life.     Another 

gave 
All  luxury  of  love  that  woman's 

art 
Could    lend    in    aid    of   Beauty's 

kisses —  save 
What   she,    alas !    had    not  —  a 

loving  heart. 
Poor,    dear,    dead    flowers !     One 

with  no  root  in  earth; 
And  one  no  breath  of  Heaven's 

sustaining  air; 
No   marvel   briefly  they  survived 

their  birth; 
And  then  my  true-love  came  (0 

wondrous  fail- 
Beyond    the   twain!)   whose   soul 

and  sense  unite 

In  perfect  bloom  for  Love's  su 
preme  delight. 


MY  QUEEN. 

I   CALL  her  Queen  —  the  lady  of 

my  love  — 
Since  that  in  all  one  sceptreless 

may  claim 
Of    true    nobility    to    suit    the 

name, 
She  is  right  royal,  —  and  doth  so 

approve 
My    loving     homage.     All    that 

painter's  art 
And   poet's   fantasy   delight    to 

find 
In  queenliness  is  hers:  the  noble 

mind, 

The  stately  bearing,  and  the  gra 
cious  heart; 
The    voice    most    musical,    the 

brow  serene, 
And  beaming  benediction  —  like 

a  queen ! 
And  O,  such  peerless  beauty,  that, 

I  swear 
(Recalling    each   fair  face   that 

loud  Renown 
Hath  found,  or  feigned,  beneath  n, 

jewelled  crown) 
I    flatter    queens,    to    call    her 
"  queenly  fair! " 


288 


THE  BEAUTIFUL. 


"WITH    MY    BODY    I    THEE 
WORSHIP." 

Anglican  Mamagr  Service. 

THAT  I  adore  thee,  ray  most  gra 
cious  queen, 
More    iu    my    spirit    than    my 

body's  sense 
Of  thine,  were  such  incredible 

pretence 
As  I  would  scorn  to  utter.     Thou 

hast  seen 
When  eyes  and  lips,  responsive 

to  the  heart, 
Were  bent  in  worship  of  thy  lips 

and  eyes, 

Until,  0   bliss !    each   pleasure- 
pulsing  part 
Hath   found    its   fellow  in  Love's 

sweet  emprize ; 
Each   answering  other  in  such 

eager  wise 
As  they  would   never  cease   to 

kiss  and  cling  — 
Ah!     then    meseemed    amid    the 

storm  of  sighs 
I  heard  thy  voice  exclaiming, 

"  0  my  King! 
So  may  my  soul  be  ever  true  to 

thine, 

As    with    thy  body  thou    dost 
worship  inine!  " 


PAN  IMMORTAL. 

WHO  weeps   the   death  of   Pan? 

Pan  is  not  dead, 
But  loves  the  shepherds  still  ;*  still 

leads  the  fauns 
In  merry  dances  o'er  the  grassy 

lawns, 

*  Pan  curat  oves,  oviumque  magis- 
tros.  —  VIRGIL. 


To  his  own  pipes ;  as  erst  in  Greece 

he  led 
The  sylvan  games,  what  time  the 

god  pursued 
The    beauteous    Dryope.      The 

Naiads  still 
Haunt  the  green  marge  of  every 

mountain  rill; 
The  Dryads  sport  in  every  leafy 

wood ; 
Pan  cannot  die  till  Nature's  self 

dec-ease ! 
Full  oft  the  reverent  worshipper 

descries 

His   ruddy   face   and    mischief- 
glancing  eyes 

Beneath  the  branches  of  old  forest- 
trees 
That  tower  remote  from  steps  of 

worldly  men, 

Or  hears  his  laugh  far  echoing 
down  the  glen ! 


THE  BEAUTIFUL. 

TO   STELLA. 

ALL  things  of  beauty  are  not  theirs 

alone 
Who  hold  the  fee;  but  unto  him 

no  less 
Who  can  enjoy,  than  unto  them 

who  own, 

Are  sweetest  uses  given  to  pos 
sess. 
For    Heaven    is    bountiful;    and 

suffers  none 
To    make    monopoly   of   aught 

that's  fair; 

The  breath  of  violets  is  not  for  one, 
Nor  loveliness  of  women ;  all  may 
share 


i(J 


289 


Who  can   discern;    and    He  who 

made  the  law, 
"Thou  shalt  not  cov.et:''  gavo 

the  subtile  power 
By  whicli,  uasinning  I  may  freely 

draw 
lieauty  and  fragrance  from  each 

.  perfect  flowe; 
That  decks  the  waysmc.,  or  adorns 

the  lea, 
Or  in  my  neighbor's  garden  blooms 


BEREAVEMENT. 


NAY,  weep  not,   dearest,  though 

the  child  be  dead; 
He  lives  again  in  Heaven's  un 

clouded  life, 
With  other  angels  that  have  early 

fled 

From  these  dark  scenes  of  sor 
row,  sin,  and  strife, 
fsay,  weep  not,  dearest,  though  thy 

yearning  1<  ve 
Would  fondly  keep  for  earth  its 

fairest  flowers, 
And  e'en  deny  to  brighter  realms 

above 
The  few  that  deck  this  dreary 

world  of  ours: 
Though  much  it  seems  a  wonder 

and  a  woe 
That  one  so  loved  should  be  so 

early  lost, 
And  hallowed  tears  may  unforbid- 

den  flow 
To  mourn  the  blossom  that  we 

cherished  most, 
iret  all  is  well;  God's  good  design 

I  see, 

That  where  our  treasure   is,  our 
hearts  mav  be. 


TO  MY  WIFE  ON  HER  BIRTH 
DAY. 

WHAT  !  ty   years  ?  —  I   never 

could  have  guessed  it 
By  any  token  writ  upon   your 

brow, 
Or  other  test  of  Time,  —  had  you 

not  now, 

Just  to  surprise  me,  foolishly  con 
fessed  it. 
Well,  on  your  word,  of  course,  I 

must  receive  it; 
Although  (to  say  the  truth)  it  is, 

indeed, 
As  proselytes  sometimes  accept 

a  creed, 
While  in  their  hearts  they  really 

don't  believe  it! 
While  all  around  is  changed,  no 

change  appears, 
My  darling  Sophie,  to  these  eyes 

of  mine, 
In   aught  of   thee  that  I  have 

deemed  divine, 

To  mark  the  number  of  the  van 
ished  years,  — 
The  kindly  years  that  on  that 

face  of  thine 

Have  spent  their  life,  and,  "  dy 
ing,  made  no  sign  !  " 


TO   SPRING. 

"  0  VER  PURPUREUM  !  "  —  Violet- 

colored  Spring 

Perhaps,  good  poet,  in  your  ver 
nal  days 
The  simnlo  truth  might  justify 

the  phrase; 

But  now,  dear  Virgil,  there  is  no 
such  thing! 


290 


TO  A    CLAM, 


Perhaps,  indeed,  in   your  Italian 

clirne, 

Where  o'er  the  year,  if  fair  re 
port  be  true, 

Four    seasons    roll,    instead    of 
barely  two, 

There  still  may  be  a  verdant  vernal 
time; 

But  here,  on  these  our  chilly  north 
ern  shores, 

Where  April  gleams  with  Janu 
ary's  snow?,  — 

Not  e'en  a  violet  buds ;  and  noth 
ing  "blows," 

Save   blustering    Boreas,  —  drear 
iest  of  bores. 

0  verpurpureum  !  where  the  Spring 
discloses 

Her  brightest  purple  on  our  lips 
and  noses ! 


THE  VICTIM 

A  GALLIC  bard  the  touching  tale 

has  told 

How  once  —  the  customary  dow 
er  to  save  — 
A  sordid  sire  his  only  daughter 

gave 
To  a  rich  suitor,  uglv,  base,  and 

old. 
The    mother    too    (such    mothers 

there  have  been) 
With  equal  pleasure  heard  the 

formal  vow, 
"  With  all  my  worldly  goods  I 

thee  endow," 
And  gave  the  bargain  an  approving 

grin. 
Then,  to  the  girl,  who  stood  with 

drooping  head, 
The  pallid  image  of  a  wretch 

forlorn, 

Mourning  the  hapless  hour  when 
she  was  born, 


The  Priest  said,  "Agnes,  vrilt  thou 

this  man  wed  ?  " 
"Of   this    my    marriage,    holy 

man,"  said  she, 
"  Thou   art   the   first   to   say   a 

word  to  me!  " 


TO  . 

THINE  is  an  ever-changing  beauty ; 

now 
With   that  proud  look,  so  lofty 

yet  serene 
In  its  high  majesty,  thou  seem'st 

a  queen, 
With  all  her  diamonds  blazing  on 

her  brow ! 
Anon  I   see  —  as  gentler  thoughts 

arise 
And  mould  thy  features  in  their 

sweet  control  — 
The  pure,  white  ray  that  lights  a 

maiden's  soul, 
And  struggles  outward  through  her 

drooping  eyes. 
Anon  they  flash  ;  and  now  a  golden 

light 
Bursts  o'er  thy  beauty,  like  the 

Orient's  glow, 
Bathing  thy  Shoulders'  and  thy 

bosom's  snow, 
And  all  the  woman  beams  upon  mv 

sight! 
I    kneel    unto   the   queen,   like 

knight  of  yore; 

The  maid  I  love;  the  woman  I 
adore ! 


TO   A   CLAM. 

Dum  tacent  clamant. 

INGLORIOUS    friend !    most    confi 
dent  I  am 
Thy  life  is  one  of  very  little  ease ,- 


SOMEWHERE. 


291 


Albeit  men  mock  thee  with  their 

similes 
And  prate  of  being  "  happy  as   a 

(•him  "  ! 
What  though  thy  shell  protects  thy 

fragile  head 
From  the   sharp  bailiffs   of  the 

briny  sea? 

Thy  valves  are,  sure,  no  safety- 
valves  to  thee, 
While  rakes  are  free  to  desecrate 

thy  licil, 
And   be  ir    thee   off, — as    foetnen 

take  their  spoil,  — 
Far  from  thy  friends  and  family 

to  roam ; 
Forced,  like  a  Hessian,  from  thy 

native  home, 
To  meet  destruction  in  a  foreign 

broil ! 
Though  thou  art  tender,  yet  thy 

humble  bard 

Declares,  0   clam !  thy  case   is 
shocking  hard ! 


THE  PORTRAIT. 


A  PRETTY  picture    hangs   before 

my  view; 
The  face,  in  little,  of  a  Southern 

dame, 
To  me   unknown    (though    not 

unknown  to  fame) 
Save  by  the  lines  the  cunning  lim 
ner  drew. 
So  grandly  Grecian   is  the  lady's 

he. id, 

I   took  her  for  Minerva   in  dis 
guise; 
But  when  I  marked  the  winning 

lips  and  eyes, 

I   thought    of  Aphrodite,   in    her 
stead ; 


And  then  I  kissed  her  calm,  un- 
answering  mouth 

(The   jticture  's    mine)  as   any 
lover  might, 

In  the  deep  fervor  of  a  nuptial 

night, 

And    envied    him    who,    in     the 
•'  Sunny  South," 

Calls  her  his  own  whose  shadow 
can  impart 

Such  very  sunshine  to  a  North 
ern  heart ! 


SOMEWHERE. 


SOMEWHERE  —  somewhere       a 

happy  clime  there  is, 
A  land  that  knows  not  unavail 
ing  woes, 
Where  all  the  clashing  elements  of 

this 
Discordant  scene  are  hushed  in 

deep  repose. 
Somewhere  —  somewhere  (ah  me, 

that  land  to  win !) 
Is  some   bright  realm,   beyond 

the  farthest  main, 
Where  trees  of  Knowledge  bear  no 

fruit  of  sin, 
And  buds  of  Pleasure  blossom  not 

in  pain. 
Somewhere  —  somewhere   an   end 

of  mortal  strife 
With  our  immortal  yearnings; 

nevermore 
The  outer  warring  with  the  inner 

life 
Till    both    are    wretched.     Ah, 

that  happv  shore ! 
Where   shine*   for  aye  the  soul's 

refulgent  sun, 
And  life  is  love,  and  love  and  joy 

are  one ! 


292 


ABSENCE. 


CHANGE  NOT  LOSS. 

I  DEEM  to  love  and  lose  by  love's 

decay 

In  either  breast,  or  Fate's   un 
kindly  cross, 

Is  not,  perforce,  irreparable  loss 
Unto  the  larger.     There  may  come 

a  day, 
Changing     for     precious     gold 

Affection's  dross, 
When  the  great  heart  that  sorely 

sighed  to  say 

"Farewell!"  unto  the  late-de 
parted  guest 
(The   transient  tenant  of  an  idle 

breast) 
Shall,   through    the    open    portal, 

welcome  there 
A  worthier  than  he  who  barred 

the  place 
Against  the  loitering  lord,  whose 

regal  face 
And    princely   step  proclaim  the 

lawful  heir 
Arrived  —  ah,  happy  day  !  —  to 

fill  the  throne 

By  royal  right  divine  his  very 
own! 


A  LA  PENSEE. 

COME  to  me,  dearest !     0,  I  can 
not  bear 
These  barren  words  of  worship 

that  to  each 
The  other  utters.     In  the  finer 

speech 

Of  soft  caresses  let  our  souls  de 
clare 
Their  opulence  of  love;  for  while 

instead 

We  linger  prattling,  kind  Occa 
sion  slips, 

Leaving  to    pensive    sighs    the 
pallid  lips 


That  else  for  pleasure  had  been 

ruby  red. 
Thanks!   'darling,    thanks!      Ah, 

happier  than  a  king 
In  all  beatitude  of  royal  bliss 
Is  he   whose  mouth   (again!  0 

perfect  kiss !) 
May   thus   unto   thine    own  with 

rapture  cling; 
For  very  joy  of  love  content  to 

live 

Unquestioning    if    Love     hav« 
more  to  give ! 


ABSENCE. 

ABSENT  from  thee,  beloved,  I  am 

pent 

In  utter  solitude,  where'er  I  be; 
My    wonted    pleasures    give    me 

small  content 
Wanting    the    highest,  —  to    be 

shared  by  thee. 
Reading,  —  I  deem  I  misemploy  my 

eyes, 
Save   in   the   sweet    perusal   of 

thine  own ; 

Talking,  —  1   mind  me,  with  en 
amoured  sighs, 
What  finer  use  my  moving  lips 

have  known 
When   (as   some    kind  orchestral 

instrument 
Takes   up   the  note  the   singer 

failed  to  reach) 

Uncounted  kisses  rapturously  lent 
The    finished    meaning    to    my 

halting  speech; 
Remembering  this,  I  fondly  yearn 

for  thee, 

And  cry,  "0  Time!  haste!  bring 
my  love  to  me ! ' ' 


AQUINAS  AND   THE  BISHOP. 


293 


BIENVEXUE. 

THRICE   welcome   day  that  ends 

the  weary  night 
Of  love  in  absence.     Hush,  my 

throbbing  heart! 
I  hear  her   step,  —  she  comes ! 

who  now  can  part 
The  happy  twain  whose  soul  and 

sense  unite  V 
0,  can  it  be?     Is  this  no  mocking 

dream  V 
Nay,  by  these   clasping  hands, 

"  that  fervent  kiss, 
(Honey  of  Hybla!)  and  by  this, 

anil  tins,' 
I   know   thee   for  my  own.     Ah! 

now  I  deem 
The  gods    grow  envious  of  an 

earthly  bliss 
That  dims  Elysian  raptures,  and  I 

seem 
More  blest  than  blest  Endymion ; 

for  he 
Saw  not   his   love,   while   I,  with 

doting  eyes, 

0  joy  ineffable !  do  gaze  on  thee, 
Whose  circling  arms  enclose  my 
Paradise ! 


MISERERE. 

I  THINK  the  pity  of  this  earthly 

life 
Is  love:     So   sighs   a.  singer  of 

tbe  day, 

Whose  pensive  strain  my  sym 
pathetic  lay 

Sadly  prolongs.     Alas!    the  end 
less  strife 

Of  love's  sweet  law  with  cold  con 
vention's  rules; 
The  loving  souls  unloved;    the 

perfect  mate, 

/       After    long  years   of  yearning, 
found  —  too  late! 


The  treason  of  false  friends;  the 

frown  of  fools ; 
The    fear    that    baffles    bliss    in 

beauty's  arms; 
The  weariness  of  absence;  and 

the  dread 
Of  lover  —  or  of  love  —  untimely 

dead ! — 
Musing   on    these,    and    all    the 

direful  harms 
That  hapless  human  hearts  are 

doomed  to  prove, 
I   think  the  pity  of  this  life  is 
love ! 


AQUINAS  AND  THE  BISHOP. 

INCREASE  of  worldly  wealth  is  not 

alway 

With  growth  in  grace  in  mani 
fest  accord ; 
So  quaint  Aquinas  hinted  to  my 

lord 
The  bishop,  when,  upon  a  certain 

day, 
Surprised   while    counting  o'er 

his  ample  hoard 
Of   shining  ducats   in   a  coffer 

stored, 
The  prelate  said,  "  The  time,  you 

see,  has  gone 
When  dear  old  Mother  Church 

was  forced  to  say, 
(Acts    second)    '  Gold    and   silver 

have  I  none!  '  " 

"  Ah !  "  quoth  Aquinas,  shrewd 
ly,  "so  I  find; 
But  that,  your  Grace,  was  in  the 

purer  age, 
The  very  same,  be   pleased  to 

bear  in  mind, 
When  with  her  foes  brave  battle 

she  could  wage, 

And  say  to  sordid  Satan,  '  Get 
behind  !'  " 


EPIGKAMS. 


EPIGRAMS. 


THE  EXPLANATION. 

•^CHARLES,  discoursing  rather  freely 

Of  the  unimportant  part 
Which  (he  said)  our  clever  women 

Play  in  Science  and  in  Art, 
"  Ah  !  — the  sex  you  undervalue  " ; 

Cried  his  lovely  cousin  Jane. 
'  No,  indeed!  "  responded  Charley, 

"  Pray  allow  me  to  explain; 
Such  a  paragon  is  woman, 

That,  you  see,  it  must  be  true 
She  is  always  vastly  better 

Than  the  best  that  she  can  do !  " 


FAMILY  QUARRELS. 

"A  FOOL,"  said  Jeanette,  "is  a 

creature  I  hate!  " 
"  But  hating,"  quoth  John,  "  is 

immoral ; 

Besides,  my  dear  girl,  it's  a  terri 
ble  fate 

To  be  found  in  a  family  quar 
rel! 


TEACHING  BY  EXAMPLE. 

•WHAT  is  the  'Poet's  License,' 

say?  " 

Asked    rose-lipped   Anna   of  a 
poet. 


"  Now  give  me  an  example,  pray, 
That  when  I  see  one  I  may  know 

it." 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  plants  a  kiss 

Where  perfect  kisses  always  fall. 
"  Nay,  sir !  what  liberty  is  this  V  " 
"  The  Poet's  License,  —  that  is 
all!" 


A  COMMON  ALTERNATIVE, 

"  Say,  what 's  to  be  done  with  this 

window,  dear  Jack  ? 
The  cold  rushes  through  it  at  every 

crack." 
Quoth  John:  "I  know  little  of 

carpenter-craft, 
But  I  think,  my  dear  wife,  you  will 

have  to  go  through 
The  very  same  process  that  other 

folks  do, — 
That  is,  you  must  list  or  submit 

to  the  draught  !  " 


A  PLAIN  CASE. 

WHEN  Tutor  Thompson  goes  to 

bed, 

That  very  moment,  it  is  said, 
The  cautious  man   puts   out  the 

light, 


298 


ON  A  RECENT  CLASSICAL  CONTROVERSY. 


And  draws  the  curtain  snug  and 

tight. 
You  marvel  much  why  this  should 

be, 
But  when  his  spouse  you  chance 

to  see, 
What   seemed  before  a  puzzling 

case 
Is    plain    as — Mrs.    Thompson's 

face! 


OVER-CANDID. 

BOUNCING  Bess,  discoursing  free, 

Owned,    with  wondrous    meek 
ness, 
Just  one  fault  (what  could  it  be?) 

One  peculiar  weakness; 
She  in  candor  must  confess 

Nature  failed  to  send  her 
Woman's  usual  tenderness 

Toward  the  other  gender. 
Foolish  Bessie !  —  thus  to  tell; 

Had  she  not  confessed  it, 
Not  a  man  who  knows  her  well 

Ever  would  have  guessed  it ! 


NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND. 

"  HERE,  wife,"  said  Will,  "  I  pray 

you  devote 
Just  half  a  minute  to  mend  this 

coat, 

Which  a  nail  has  chanced  to  rend." 
"'Tis    ten    o'clock!"    said    his 

drowsy  mate. 
';  I  know,"  said  Will,  "  it  is  rather 

late; 
But 'tis 'never  too  late  to  mend'  !" 


AN  EQUIVOCAL  APOLOGY. 

QUOTH  Madam  Bas-bleu,  "  I  hear 

you  have  said 
Intellectual  women  are   always 

your  dread ; 

Now  tell  me,  dear  sir,  is  it  true?" 
"  Why,     yes,"     answered     Tom, 

"  very  likely  I  may 
Have  made  the  remark,  in  a  jocu 
lar  way ; 

But  then,  on  my  honor,  I  didn't 
mean  you!  " 


ON  AN  ILL-READ  LAWYER. 

AN    idle     attorney     besought    a 

brother 
For    something   to   read,  —  some 

novel  or  other, 

That  was  really  fresh  and  new. 
"  Take  Chitty !  "  replied  his  legal 

friend, 
"  There  is  n't  a  book  that  I  could 

lend 
Would    prove    more    novel    to 

you!  " 


ON  A  RECENT  CLASSIC  CON 
TROVERSY. 

NAY,    marvel   not   to    see    these 

scholars  fight, 
In  brave  disdain  of  certain  scath 

and  scar; 
'T  is  but  the  genuine  old  Hellenic 

spite,— 

K  When    Greek    meets    Greekj 
then  comes  the  tug  of  war  I ' 


CONJURGIUM  NON   CONJUGIUM. 


299 


ANOTHER. 

Quoth  David  to  Daniel,  "  Why  is 

it  these  scholars 
Abuse    one    another    whenever 

thev  speak?  " 
Quoth  Daniel  to  David,  '*  It  nat'- 

rally  follers 

"Folks   come   to    hard    words   if 
they  meddle  with  <keek ! " 


LUCUS  A  NON. 

You  '11  oft  find  in  books,  rather 
ancient  than  recent, 

A  gap  in  the  page  marked  with 
"  cetera  (lesunt," 

By  which  you  may  commonly  take 
it  for  granted 

The  passage  is  wanting  without 
being  wanted; 

And  may  borrow,  besides,  a  sig 
nificant  hint 

That  demnt  means  simply  not 
decent  to  print ! 


A   CANDID  CANDIDATE.  19 

WHEN  John  was  contending 
(though  sure  to  be  beat) 

In  the  annual  race  for  the  Govern 
or's  seat, 

And  a  crusty  old  fellow  remarked, 
to  his  face, 

He  was  clearly  too  young  for  so 
lofty  a  place.  — 

"Perhaps'  so,"  said  John;  "but 
consider  a  minute; 

The  objection  will  cease  by  the 
time  I  ara  in  it!  " 


NEMO    REPENTE    TURPISSI- 
MUS. 

BOB  SAWYER  to  a  man  of  law 
Repeating  once  the  Roman  saw, 
"  Nemo  repente  —  "  and  the  rest, 
Was  answered  thus:  "Well,  I  pro 
test, 

However  classic  your  quotation, 
I  do  not  see  the  application." 
if'T  is  plain  enough,"  responded 

Sawyer: 

"  It  takes  "three  years  to  make  a 
lawyer!  " 


TOO  CANDID   BY  HALF. 

As  Tom  and   his  wife  were   dis 
coursing  one  day 
Of  their  several  faults,  in  a  ban 
tering  way, 
Said  she:  '•  Though  my  wit  you 

disparage, 
I  'm  sure,  my  dear  husband,  our 

friends  will  attest 
This  much,  at  the  least,  that  my 

judgment  is  best." 
Quoth   Tom,  "  So  they  said  at 
our  marriage!  " 


CONJURGIUM    NON    CONJU- 
GIUM. 

DICK  leads,  it  is  known,  with  his 
vixenish  wife. 

In  spite  of  thoir  vows,  such  a  tur 
bulent  life, 

The  social  relation  of  Dick  and  his 
mate 

Should  stirelv  be  written  The  Con- 
jurgal  State! 


300 


THE  LOST  CHARACTER. 


CHEAP  ENOUGH. 

THEY  've  a  saying  in  Italy,  pointed 

and  terse, 
That  a  pretty  girl's  smiles  are  the 

tears  of  the  purse; 
"What  matter?"   says   Charley. 

"  Can  diamonds  be  cheap? 
Let  lovers  be  happy,  though  purses 

should  weep ! " 


ON  AN  UGLY  PERSON  SIT 
TING  FOR  A  DAGUERREO 
TYPE. 

HERE  Nature  in  her  glass  —  the 
wanton  elf — 

Sits  gravely  making  faces  at  her 
self;" 

And,  while  she  scans  each  clumsy 
feature  o'er, 

Repeats  the  blunders  that  she  made 
before ! 


ON  A  FAMOUS  WATER-SUIT. 

MY  wonder  is  really  boundless, 
That  among  the  queer  cases  we 

try, 

A  land-case  should  often  be  ground 
less, 
And  a  water-case  always  be  dry ! 


KISSING  CASUISTRY. 

WHEN  Sarah  Jane,  the  moral  Miss, 
Declares  't  is  very  wrong  to  kiss, 


I  '11  bet  a  shilling  I  see  through  it; 
The  damsel,  fairly  understood, 
Feels     just     as      any     Christian 

should,  — 

She  'd  rather  suffer  wrong  than 
Jo  it! 


TO     A     POETICAL      CORRE 
SPONDENT. 

ROSE  hints  she  is  n't  one  of  those 
Who  have  the  gift  of  writing  prose ; 
But  poetry  is  une  autre  chose, 
And  quite  an  easy  thing  to  Rose ! 
As  if  an  artist  should  decline. 
For  lack  of  skill,  to  paint  a  sign, 
But,  try  him  in  the  landscape  line, 
You  '11  find  his  genius  quite  divine ! 


ON 


A    LONG-WINDED    ORA 
TOR. 


THREE  Parts  compose  a  proper 
speech 

(So  wise  Quintilian's  maxims 
teach), 

But  Loquax  never  can  get  through, 

In  his  orations,  more  than  two. 

He  doesn't  stick  at  the  "Begin 
ning"; 

His  "Middle"  comes  as  sure  as 
sinning; 

Indeed,  the  whole  one  might  com 
mend, 

Could  he  contrive  to  make  an 
"End!" 


THE  LOST   CHARACTER. 

JULIA  is  much  concerned,  God  wot. 
For  the  good  name  —  she  hasn't 
got; 


THE   THREE    WIVES. 


301 


So  mortgagors  are  often  known      , 
To  guard  the  soil  they  deem  their 

own, 

As  if,  forsooth,  they  didn't  know 
The  land  was  forfeit  long  ago ! 


A  DILEMMA. 

"  WHENEVER  I  marry,"  says  mas 
culine  Ann, 

"  I  must  really  insist  upon  wedding 
a  man  !" 

But  what  if  the  man  (for  men  are 
but  human) 

Should  be  equally  nice  about  wed 
ding  a  woman  ¥ 


THE  THREE  WIVES. 

A   JUBILATION. 

MY  First  was  a  lady  whose  domi 
nant  passion 

Was  thorough  devotion  to  parties 
and  fashion; 

My  Second,  regardless  of  conjugal 
duty, 

Was  only  the  worse  for  her  won 
derful  beauty ; 

My  Third  was  a  vixen  in  temper 
and  life, 

Without  one  essential  to  make  a 
good  wife. 

Jubilate  !  at  last  in  my  freedom  I 
revel, 

For  I'm  clear  of  the  World,  and 
the  Flesh,  and  the  Devil ! 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  i.    Page  46. 

THE  tale  of  "  Miralda  "  is  based  on  a  popular  legend,  of  which  an  excellent  prose 
version  may  be  found  in  Ballou's  History  of  Cuba. 

NOTE  2.    Page  50. 

This  piece  is  an  imitation  of  a  poem  by  Praed,  entitled  "  My  Partner."  There 
are  two  other  pieces  in  this  collection,  which,  in  deference  to  certain  critics,  I 
ought  to  mention  as  imitations  of  the  same  author.  There  is.  indeed,  a  resem- 


reinark  will  apply  to  "  The  proud  Miss  MacKnde,  which  is  written  in  the  meas 
ure,  and  (lon^o  inter  vallo )  after  the  manner,  of  Hood's  incomparable  "  Golder 
Legend.1' 

NOTE  3.    Page  88. 

"  Potter,  the  Great  Magician,"  —  a  clever  conjurer  of  a  former  generation,  —  is 
gtill  vividly  remembered  by  many  people  in  New  Hampshire  and  Vermont. 

NOTE  4.    Page  118. 

The  first  stanza  of  this  poem  T  must  credit  to  a  fragment  of  an  anonymous  Ger 
man  song,  which  I  found  afloat  in  some  newspaper.  The  remaining  stanzas  are 
built  upon  the  suggestion  of  the  first. 

NOTE  5.    Page  146. 

If  my  version  of"  The  Ugly  Aunt "  is  more  simple  in  plot  than  the  prose  story 
in  the  "  Xorske  Folke-cventer,"  it  certainly  gains  something  in  refinement  by  the 
variation. 

NOTE  6.    Page  158. 

I  'm  aware  this  dainty  version 
Is  n't  quite  the  thing  to  go  forth 


306  NOTES. 

For  the  Grecian's  "  suggenesthai," 

"  Ep  oikemntos,"  and  so  forth  ; 
But  propriety  's  a  virtue 

I  'm  always  bound  to  show  forth. 

NOTE  7.    Page  162. 

The  tradition  of  the  Wandering  Jew  is  very  old  and  popular  in  every  country  of 
Europe,  and  is  the  theme  of  many  romances  in  prose  and  verse.  The  old  Spanish 
writers  make  the  narrative  as  diabolical  and  revolting  as  possible  ;  while  the  French 
and  Flemish  authors  soften  the  legend  (as  in  the  present  ballad)  into  a  pathetic 
story  of  sin,  suffering,  and  genuine  repentance. 

NOTE  8.    Page  176. 

This  story  is  found  in  many  modern  languages.  In  the  present  version,  the 
traveller  is  a  Frenchman  in  Holland  :  in  another,  he  is  an  Englishman  in  France  •, 
and  in  a  third,  a  Welshman  in  some  foreign  country.  The  Welsh  story  (a  poem, 
of  which  an  anonymous  correspondent  has  sent  me  a  translation)  is  perhaps  the 
best ;  though  it  is  impossible  to  say  which  is  the  oldest. 

NOTE  9.    Page  236. 
"  To  show,  for  once,  that  Dutchmen  are  not  dutt," 

Pere  Bouhours  seriously  asked  "  if  a  German  could  be  a  bel  esprit."  This  con 
cise  question  was  answered  by  Kramer,  in  a  ponderous  work  entitled  Vindicitx 
nominis  Germaniccg. 

NOTE  10.    Page  240. 

"  In  closest  eirdle,  O  reluctant  Muse, 
In  scantiest  skirts,  and  lightest-stepping  shoes." 

Imitated  from  the  opening  couplet  of  Holmes's  "  Terpsichore,"  — 

"  In  narrowest  girdle,  O  reluctant  Muse, 
In  closest  frock,  and  Cinderella  shoes." 

NOTE  11.     Page  240. 
"  '  She  stoops  to  conquer'1  in  a  '  Grecian  curve.'  " 

Terence,  who  wrote  comedies  a  little  more  than  two  thousand  years  ago,  thus 
alludes  to  this  and  a  kindred  custom  then  prevalent  among  the  Roman  girls  :  — 

"  Virgines,  quas  matres  student 
Demissis  humeris  esse,  vincto  corpore,  ut  graciles  fiant.:' 

The  sense  of  the  passage  may  be  given  in  English,  with  sufficient  accuracy, 
»hus :  — 

Maidens,  whom  fond,  maternal  care  has  graced 
With  stooping  shoulders,  and  a  cinctured  waist. 


NOTES.  307 

NOTE  12.    Page  242. 
"  Their  tumid  tropes  for  simple.1  Buncombe  '  made." 

Many  readers,  who  have  heard  about  "  making  speeches  for  Buncombe,"  may 
not  be  aware  that  the  phrase  originated  as  follows  :     A  member  of  Congress  from 


uncombe!  " 

NOTE  13.    Page  243. 

"  Till  rising  high,  in  rancorous  debate, 
And  higher  still  in  fierce,  envenomed  hate.'1'' 

"  Sed  jurgia  prima  sonare 
Incipiunt  animis  ardentibus  ;  hasc  tuba  rixse  ; 
Dein  clamore  pari  concurritur,  et  vice  teli 
Ssevit  nuda  manus."  —  Juv.  Sat.  xv. 

NOTE  14.    Page  245. 
"  Not  uninvited  to  her  task  she  came.'" 

This  poem  was  written  at  the  instance  of  the  Associated  Alumni  of  Jiiddlebnry 
College,  and  spoken  before  that  Society,  July  22,  1846. 

NOTE  15.    Page  245. 

"  No  singer's  trick,  —  conveniently  to  bring 
A  sudden  cough  when  importuned  to  Sing1." 

The  capriciousness  of  musical  folk,  here  alluded  to,  is  by  no  means  peculiar  to 
our  times.  A  little  before  the  Christian  era,  Horace  had  occasion  to  scold  the 
Roman  singers  for  the  same  fiult  : 

"  Omnibus  hoc  vitium  est  cantoribus,  inter  amicos, 
Ut  nunquam  induoant  animum  cantare  rogati  ; 
Injussi  nunquam  desistant."  —  Sat.  Hi. 

NOTE  16.    Page  257. 
"  And  hush  the  wail  of  Peter  Plymlcy's  ghost." 

Rev.  Sydney  Smith,  the  English  author  and  wit,  lately  deceased,  who,  having 
speculated  in  Pennsylvania  Bonds  to  the  damage  of  his  estate,  berated  "the  ras 
cally  repudiators  "  with  much  spirit,  and  lamented  his  losses  in  many  excellent 
jedta. 

NOTE  17.     Page  2o8. 

"  Unfriendly  hills  no  longer  interpose 
As  stubborn  vails  to  geographic  foes, 
Nor  envious  streams  run  only  to  diride 
The  hearts  of  brethren  ranged  on  either  side. 


3U8  NOTES. 

•'  Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into  one." 

Cowptr. 

NOTE  18.    Page  259. 

"  Aristophanes,  whose  humor  run 
In  vain  endeavor  to  be-'  cloud  '  the  sun." 

An  allusion  to  the  comedy  of"  The  Clouis,"  written  in  ridicule  of  Socrates. 

NOTE  19.    Page  299. 

An  anecdote  of  the  gubernatorial  canvass  in  Vermoct  in  the  year  1859. 
Let  those  laugh  who  —  lose ! 


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